


miles to go before I sleep

by elizamackenzie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Elemental Magic, M/M, Magic, Nightmares, Pining, Romance, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-15 06:50:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13025559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizamackenzie/pseuds/elizamackenzie
Summary: Harry lets out a sigh, and says it in the simplest way he can, “I go to bed on March 20th and I wake up on December 21st. And for me…” he lets out another breath, shaking his head a bit, “It doesn’t feel like a single day has passed.”Louis blinks, the words slowly settling around them. “So, for the rest of the months you just…”“I don’t exist.”And Harry can see the way the information hits Louis, his expression dropping suddenly, his shoulders slumping. Because there is a world of difference between being somewhere else for nine months and not being anywhere at all. Between voluntarily choosing to go—and potentially to stay—and having no choice in the matter. Between nine months of phone calls and visits and texts. And nothing.--Quote prompt: “I cried over beautiful things, knowing no beautiful thing lasts.” -Autumn Movement by Carl Sandburg





	miles to go before I sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Man oh man. This was such a challenge to write, but I am actually very pleased with the end product. A million thank you's to my wonderful, lovely, amazing beta [panda_bear21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_bear21). You are the best!! <3 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! Follow me on Tumblr if you wanna chat: [reeeallygood](http://reeeallygood.tumblr.com/)
> 
> The title is from Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.

Harry’s eyes snap open suddenly as he breathes in sharply through his nose. The cold air soaks into his lungs as he blinks a few times, his eyes adjusting to the brightness of the room. The light from the early morning sun is streaming in through the window, spreading out over Harry’s pillows—making itself comfortable there.

Harry swallows thickly, already anticipating the stiffness in his limbs as he slowly, carefully, starts to lift himself up. He winces almost immediately at the creaking in his joints, rolling his shoulders back a few times, hoping it will help get things back in order.

It’s always like this on his first day.

He swings his legs off the side of the bed, his feet settling against the chilly hardwood floor. A stark contrast to the warmth the sunlight is casting across his bare chest. He wiggles his toes a few times against the cool wood.

He needs to get dressed.

Gail will be coming to find him soon enough-if he doesn’t go and find her first that is.

He stands gingerly, letting his body continue to gradually wake up. He lets his eyes flick up to the far wall, once he’s finally able to turn himself towards his dresser. He sees that Gail has kept his calendar updated, December 21st circled in thick, red Sharpe. The words, _Harry’s back!_ Written in loopy cursive. Harry’s mouth quirks up at that, a small breath escaping him. He’ll have to go and see her first thing—She may never forgive him if he doesn’t.

He chuckles lightly to himself at the thought, his voice noticeably raspy. Out of tune—like every other part of him this morning. He clears his throat before starting to dig through his drawers for something warm. His lips purse out as he considers the merit of a sweater versus a cardigan before his hand knocks against something hard. It confuses him for a moment before he remembers—it’s his phone. He forgot he put it in there.

It’s off, naturally, probably dead.

Harry places it up on the top of his dresser, leaving it to charge for a while. It’s not like he’ll need it for the rest of the day anyway. Already assuming that he’ll be spending the rest of it at Gail’s kitchen table with a cup of tea and hours’ worth of town gossip he needs to be informed of.

He lets out a breath as he tugs on a sweater, noticing that it’s much warmer inside than he prefers it, stuffy almost. He’s thankful to Gail for keeping the heat on while he was gone, but, in his opinion, there isn’t much point to it being sweater weather if he has to take it off every time he goes back inside.

With that thought he quickly stops at the thermostat on his way out the door, shoving his feet into a very worn-out pair of boots before stepping out onto his front porch.

It’s clear and crisp outside. Just the way Harry likes it. Snow crunches under his feet as he walks down the street. It’s quiet, like it always is, but it isn’t a lazy silence. It’s rather like a quiet anticipation—buzzing with understated energy. Harry can feel the earlier tenseness in his muscles melting away with the chill.

He tilts his head back slightly as he goes, blinking up at the bluer than blue sky, taking in a deep, full-bodied breath. Wanting to really experience the way the air feels around him. Wanting to remember it.

“Harry Styles!” The sound of the familiar voice makes Harry’s head snap back up.

His eyes scan for the source of it for a moment, having to blink away the small black dots in his eyes from the brightness of the light reflecting off the snow. He’s still a few minutes from Gail’s house.

And yet here she is, watching him with kind eyes and a shrewd smile. Her hair is pulled back into a tight, neat bun, most of her short frame covered in puffy layers of coat.

“Hey there, Lovely,” he says almost immediately, turning to walk towards her. He notes the hands she has settled on her hips, his eyebrows raising slightly. She only stands like that when she means business. “I was just on my way to see you,” he continues, stopping once he’s gotten closer, “what are you doing out here?” He smiles just a little, already knowing that she’s probably up to no good. Meddling in something.

“Well,” she starts, clearly warming herself up for what she wants to say next. Harry smiles a bit wider. Of all the things that have changed in this town in recent years, he’s glad that she’s not one of them. “I’m on a mission,” she says, one of her eyebrows arching as the corner of his mouth ticks up. A wisp of her grey hair falls on her forehead gently before the breeze picks it up, placing it back where it was before. As though it couldn’t stand the thought of her looking disheveled.

“A mission?” Harry asks lightly, amusement hinting in his tone. “May I ask the nature of this mission?”

Gail gives him a wink, starting to walk back towards the street. Pinching at Harry’s hip as she passes, making him jump at bit. “It’s something I’ll need your help with.”

Harry smiles even wider at her words, delighted at the prospect. He turns to follow after her, his body turned towards her slightly so that he can hear all the details of her plan.

She’s quiet for a long moment, her eyes flicking around them as though to make sure they aren’t being watched. Not that there’s ever anyone around to watch them in the first place. Most of the houses here empty out once the snow comes.

Gail finally beckons Harry a bit closer with her pointer finger—barely defined in her thick mittens. Harry bends down a bit as she starts to murmur, “There’s a new boy.”

“A new boy?”

“Shh!” she says, waving her hand close to Harry’s face. He has to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing. “He just moved into the cute little cottage at the end of Maple. You know the one. Where Maeve used to live before Harvey passed.” Harry nods in understanding. “He’s young, handsome. Like you. But the poor kid is up here all alone. No family anywhere nearby, and he got here just before the start of the snowy season—you know I can’t stand the thought of someone spending the holidays by themselves, it’s just not—“

“Gail…” Harry says softly, chuckling a bit with his words, gently reminding her, “the mission?”

“Oh yes, of course, I’m getting there,” she swats playfully at Harry’s chest, before giving him a pointed look, “It’s my _mission_ to make this boy feel as welcome as possible. I can’t have anyone feeling out of place or unwanted on Christmas, it’s just not right.” She huffs out a breath, as though the very idea makes her indignant. “And he already had a sad look about him…” Gail shakes her head and Harry raises his eyebrows again.

“So you need me to be a part of your welcome committee?” he asks, more than happy to do so. He’s always enjoyed meeting new people. And spending time with someone, as Gail puts it, ‘young like him’ might be a nice change.

“I need you to offer to fix his furnace.”

Harry’s eyebrows press together, “His furnace?”

“He mentioned how cold it is in that house. And I know it’s as old as the hills…. Wouldn’t be surprised if the thing is acting up.” Gail turns up one of the roads, and Harry continues to follow after her, just now noticing how close they are getting to her house.

“How many times have you been over there?” he asks quietly, noting that Gail seems to know quite a lot about this new stranger living in Maeve’s cottage.

Gail shrugs in reply. Harry hums, pressing his lips together. She’s up to something.

She turns, starting to walk the two of them back to her place, linking her arm in Harry’s easily. They both drag their feet in the snow across two more lawns before they reach her cute little house, gleaming with Christmas lights, even during the day. Harry doubts she’s figured out how to work the timer he bought her.

Gail makes a small noise of relief once they step through her front door, kicking off her boots and already shuffling towards the kitchen. Harry glances around quickly, trying to pinpoint the small changes in décor since he was last there. Not much seems to have changed. The worn wooden floor is still smothered in carpets, the chairs at her breakfast table still mismatched. He ducks his head under the entry way into the living room, smiling at the too-large Christmas tree sitting in the corner, practically engulfing the arm chair beside it.

“Tea or Coffee?” Gail calls to him from the kitchen.

He turns his head, walking towards her as he replies, “Tea would be great.” He crosses the linoleum floor to stand beside her at the stove, watching as she turns on the gas. The eye in the back right corner igniting after a moment before it is quickly covered with a kettle. Harry lets his eyes flick up towards the window above the sink, the lace half-curtain on it beginning to yellow.

“Louis is a school teacher.”

Harry’s eyebrows press together slightly as he looks back at her. She isn’t looking at him, instead fiddling with a kitchen towel that is folded on the counter top.

“Who?” he asks.

“Louis.” She turns, walking towards the cupboard, where she keeps her teacups.

Harry raises an eyebrow as he watches her. “This the ‘new boy’ again?”

She shrugs lightly—very nonchalant.

Harry doesn’t like anything that is happening.

“Gail…”

She doesn’t look up at him, pursing her lips for just a second before murmuring, “He’s a very nice young man.”

Harry stares at her, blinking a few times. Slowly starting to understand what all of this is about. “What does that mean?” he asks, voice quieter, more suspicious. Wanting to hear her confirm what he already suspects.

She glances up at him this time, studying him for a moment before smiling. She comes back over, reaching up to pat his cheek just as the kettle starts to whistle. “Nothing, Darling.”

And Harry knows that he won’t be able to get back on the subject again. Even if he needs to firmly inform her that whatever she’s planning can in no way happen.

She quickly fills their cups, picking them up and beckoning Harry towards the kitchen table. Harry watches her with a small pout.

“Now come on,” she says after a moment, smiling a little at his expression. She lightly taps the seat next to her, “You were gone for almost nine-months and I want to hear all about it.”

\--

Harry sits on his couch with a huff, laying his winter coat across the coffee table. He stares, for a moment, out at the soft glow of the moonlight, before slowly letting his eyes fall closed.

He lets out a deep breath, focusing his mind as much as he can and trying to imagine the snow melting away. The hills rolling with green rather than with ice. The town teaming with people. He wonders how it would feel. If he would love it just as much as he does in the winter.

If he’d love it more.

He blinks his eyes open again, the vision in his head fading away as he looks out again at the cold, clear night. Carefully, he stands up from his seat, moving closer to the window, his eyes trailing over it for just a moment before he reaches out and presses his fingertips against the cold glass. He lets out a breath at the feeling, pressing against it harder, letting the outdoor chill seep into his skin.

Then, slowly, he drags his hand down, fingers trailing across the glass—leaving trails of frost in their wake.

\--

Harry ducks his chin in to the collar of his coat, exhaling as he does, feeling the way his breath spreads out warmly across his skin. The wind is biting today, licking like knives against his cheeks. He bends forward slightly, hoping it will allow him to move better against the cold air, even as his feet drag into the thick carpet of snow.

“You don’t think you could maybe let up just a little bit?” he asks, blinking rapidly at the dryness of his eyes. “There’s no need to show off…”

The wind picks up suddenly, whipping around violently before gusting up a flurry of powdery snow, blowing it into Harry’s face. He startles at the sudden attack, stopping his trudging for a moment before letting out an amused breath. He glances around himself with a smile. “Alright,” he says quietly, “fair point.” He huddles down a bit further in his jacket. “Who am I to tell you what to do?”

He starts again, bracing himself the best he can as he continues on. The wind seemingly intent upon beating him back whenever he gains too much momentum. He’s gasping for air by the time he reaches the railroad tracks, marking his entry into Eastport.

The snow already looks slushier ahead, dirtied and softened by heavy foot traffic. Harry sniffs as he walks towards the small cluster of buildings in the near distance. Already starting to mentally prepare himself for the walk back, shopping bags in tow.

He keeps his eyes to the ground mostly, knowing that the more compacted snow will be slicker than what he had been walking through before. And he very much does not feel like falling on his ass. The weather today has already made too much of a fool of him. He smiles at the thought, glancing to his right at the large evergreen tree there.

He double takes, blinking back at the base of the tree as he slows his pace just a bit. He wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but sure enough—someone is there.

Crouched over in the snow, their body slightly obscured by the long, low branches of the tree.

Harry frowns, stopping for a moment to observe, not sure if this person is in some sort of distress. Not many people—except him—tend to approach Eastport from this direction. Most of them don’t even walk.

The person under the tree shifts slightly, losing their balance for a moment, reaching out with a hand just in time to stop themselves from toppling sideways into the snow.

Harry glances back at the ships in the distance and then again at the person. He lets out a breath as he slowly starts to approach them, needing to make sure everything is alright before going on. Knowing that he’d spend his entire shopping trip concerned if he doesn’t check on it now.

“Hello?” He keeps his voice a bit quieter, so as to not scare the tree dweller.

They don’t react, shifting again, almost seeming to move farther into the tree. Harry furrows his brows. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright,’ he says, louder this time. The person doesn’t turn around, though they do still for a moment.

Harry continues to approach them, briefly wondering if they might be deaf. He reaches out slowly towards them, once he’s close enough, “Excuse me, are… are you okay?” He lets his hand settle lightly on the strangers shoulder, not sure how else to assess the situation properly.

The person jumps, stumbling back as they whip their head around to look at Harry. They land back in the snow, their eyes wide and chest heaving. Harry startles as well at their reaction, blinking a few times at the man in front of him. His gaze quickly flicks down to the headphone cord resting against his chest, one of his earbuds having come loose during his tumble.

And Harry can hear it now that they are both quiet. The music flowing out of the little speaker, loud enough to muffle out the rest of the world.

Harry looks back at the man’s face. “I’m so sorry,” he starts, suddenly feeling horribly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to… It’s just that I saw you…” he glances towards the base of the tree, voice more of a mumble when he speaks again, “I thought you might have been hurt.” The words sound ridiculous when said out loud. Paranoid, nosey even. Like a bad excuse to touch a stranger.

He looks back at the man, who seems to have calmed his heart rate a bit. Now looking at Harry with a confused expression. “No…” he says, slowly. “It’s alright. I’m, I’m fine.” He starts to shift himself back up, brushing some of the snow off of his pants and back. “I was just,” Harry watches him glance towards the ground, following his gaze to a small bag of pinecones. Harry blinks at them. “For my, um, fire,” the man continues, starting to sound a bit sheepish. As though he’s embarrassed to have been caught. “Thanks for your concern though,” he says with a breath.

Harry nods, not sure what to do now. He feels awkward and still horribly embarrassed for having scared the poor man. “I just don’t see a lot of people up here,” he says. Perhaps trying a bit too hard to convince this man that he isn’t a creep. “At least not people I don’t know.” He lets out a small amused breath afterwards, not sure if he should just quickly say goodbye and leave this guy to collect his pinecones in peace.

“Well, I’m, uh, new to the area. So.” The man leans down to pick up his small bag and the realization practically smacks Harry in the face.

“You’re Louis the school teacher,” he says without thinking. The stalker-y nature of the words not dawning on him until after.

Luckily Louis doesn’t seem put off by it, smiling a little instead.

He looks over Harry’s face, before glancing down his person, voice warmer than before, “I take it you’re Harry.”

Harry can’t help but laugh lightly at that, even though the thought of Gail giving them both the same run-down makes his cheeks feel a bit hot. Especially since, seeing him now, Louis does indeed look like a _nice young man._ “I am,” he replies.

Louis smiles wider, his posture shifting into something more comfortable at the information. It’s only a short moment of quiet before Louis speaks up again, “I, um, hear that you’re good with furnaces…”

Harry laughs again, though he isn’t sure if that was something to be laughed at. Though if Gail popped in on him as much as Harry suspects she did then he imagines he’ll appreciate the humor of her meddling.

His mind flits back suddenly to standing in Gail’s kitchen, her mentioning Louis with thinly veiled suggestion. He wonders if she had hinted similar things when she’d told Louis about him. Harry’s face starts to feel warm again. Which, like before, is both unnecessary and ridiculous. Though the more he tries to will it away, the more it spreads onto his cheeks.

He turns his head a bit, trying his best to conceal it as he reaches up to scratch at the back of his head. He clears his throat, lightly. “I, um, can come take a look at yours. If you want. The systems tend to be quite old. So they usually need a tuning up once every few months during the snowy seasons.” He reaches up to rub his face next to soothe out the pink color on his cheeks more, pretending to scratch an itch. He flicks his eyes back up at Louis, who seems none the wiser to Harry’s thoughts. Looking very casual.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “Tomorrow morning would be great, if you’re free.”

Harry nods his head. “Get it working just in time for Christmas,” he jokes. Not sure if it was actually funny.

Louis smiles wide, “That’s the idea.” Harry watches as he takes in a deep breath, “Well, I’m headed down to the shops,” Louis takes a few steps away from him, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gives Harry a little wave before walking past him, pinecones in tow.

Harry watches him go.

He knows the normal person thing to do would be to tell Louis he’s going in the same direction and walk with him. Instead, he fully intends to wait ten minutes until Louis is down in the shopping center before going himself.

And praying that Louis doesn’t see him.

He closes his eyes for a moment, knowing that this is ridiculous. And he blames Gail for all of it. She planted thoughts in his head and set up expectations.

Not like anything is going to happen anyway. No matter how much Gail meddles. Or how attractive Louis may be—which Gail was right, he is attractive.

And he’s new in town. And Harry’s going to fix his furnace tomorrow.

It’s like the beginning to a bad hallmark movie.

Harry groans, blinking his eyes a few times. Louis now a small figure in the distance.

Despite Gail’s wishes Harry has no intention of things treading into hallmark territory. Louis is new and seems nice and Harry plans to treat him in kind. Fixing his furnace being a part of that.

And they will see each other around and chat and be cordial and both be glad to have someone their age around. And that will be the end of it. Nothing good could come out of—His hand is freezing.

He looks down to where he’d been squeezing at his own fingers, ice forming around his hold. “Shit.” He lets go of his hand, shaking it a bit to get the chunks off and rubbing his fingers against his coat. He lets out a breath. That’s what he gets for not paying attention.

He waits for a few more minutes before starting down to the ships. He needs to buy Gail’s Christmas presents, ticking through his list of things she wants or needs.

There’s a moment when he suddenly wonders whether he should get Louis something too, especially if he’ll be seeing him the next day. Something small, of course. Not wanting to be overbearing. He debates as he walks through the stores, finally deciding to grab a small coffee mug for him, figuring that he can keep it for himself if he changes his mind.

\--

_Harry will always remember his first winter. The feeling of the snow on his skin and the way the cold air licked at his cheeks, biting at his nose and making his eyes sting. He had reached out into a snowbank and had giggled at the way it crunched in his hand before slowly starting to melt away. He had marveled at the way it left his palm red and raw. His toes had wiggled in the cold patch underneath his bare feet, leaving an indent in the fresh blanket of white._

_It had all seemed so strange, this new place he was in._

_And so bright, Harry didn’t understand how it could be so bright when it was so cold._

_He had rubbed at his eyes and pushed a few of his damp curls out of the way. And that’s when he heard the scream. The sound of firewood dropping to the ground. A woman staring at him—horror written in the lines of her face. And a few hurried words of panicked worry, “You’ll catch your death!”_

_She had wrapped him in a thick blanket and placed him in front of a fire, scolding him about frostbite and sickness. But Harry hadn’t understood her concern._

_He had felt just fine._

\--

In Harry’s defense, Louis never clarified what time ‘tomorrow morning’ was. And Harry has always been an early riser.

Louis answers the door after a few long moments, hair tussled and eyes droopy from sleep. Harry gives him a small apologetic smile. “Oh, sorry. I-I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Louis sniffs, blinking a few times as though he’s still trying to figure out who Harry is and why he’s at his door at eight in the morning.

Harry shifts his weight between his feet. “I can come back later…”

He’s already turning over his shoulder when he sees Louis shake his head, recognition crossing his face before he’s stepping back to let Harry in. “Of course not. I appreciate you coming by.” He yawns mid-sentence, reaching up comb through parts of his hair. Harry gives him another sheepish smile as he steps inside.

He leans down to remove his snow-covered boots, setting his tool bag down as he does.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with it exactly,” Louis says, walking away from the door and into the neighboring room. Seeming to take Harry’s sudden arrival in stride. “It’s like its only two setting are boiling hot or not quite warm enough. Do you want coffee?”

The sudden question takes Harry off guard, already going through possible causes for Louis’ furnace issues in his head. He glances towards the sound of Louis’ voice, to see him leaning through the doorway. Waiting for Harry’s answer.

He still looks tired, his eyes a bit puffy, even with the chipper tone to his voice. And Harry is thankful for it, feeling guilty for intruding so early. And for waking him. Though if Louis minded, he was certainly hiding it well.

“Coffee would be great,” he replies.

Louis smiles back at him before ducking back into what Harry presumes is the kitchen. His voice sounds further away when he speaks again. “It was fine for the first month or so—But I suppose it wasn’t as cold then...”

Harry steps cautiously into the room by the foyer as Louis continues talking, glancing around just a bit. It’s homey, nicely decorated. And just messy enough to look lived in.

There aren’t many Christmas themed decorations—no tree, at least. And none of the gaudy red bows that Gail has tied to every floor lamp in her house. Though, he does have a few drawings taped to his wall. Snowmen and Santa Clauses, each with a name scrawled at the bottom in handwriting only someone under the age of nine can get away with.

“Are these from your students?” he asks, looking towards where Louis is standing at his counter. Harry can only see his profile. His hand resting on his hip as he shakes some coffee grounds into a filter. His shirt is wrinkled slightly, the fabric looking soft and warn. It rides up a bit under Louis’ hand.

He glances back at Harry for just a moment, smiling warmly. “Yeah,” he says, his tone almost soothing. Harry wonders if it’s the voice he uses in his classroom. “They’re Christmas presents.” He lets out a small laugh before closing the lid on his coffee maker and turning towards Harry fully. “They seemed very concerned that I was going to forget them over the holidays.”

Harry chuckles a bit looking back at the drawings with a smile. “When did you move in exactly?”

“Four months ago,” Louis answers, pushing off the counter to move closer to him. Harry glances down towards Louis’ feet for a moment as he walks slowly across the carpeting. He’s wearing mismatched socks. “Gail told me that you’re only here in the winter.”

Harry smiles, almost to himself, looking up at Louis’ face to see him watching him—looking more awake now. He shrugs lightly, “It’s my favorite time of year. And Hart does a good job at it.” Louis stops beside him, leaving a small distance between their shoulders, Harry able to feel the heat radiating off his skin.

He hears Louis let out a breath, looking almost exasperated. He shakes his head, “I don’t think I’ve ever dealt with so much snow in my life.”

Harry’s laugh comes out louder than he means it to, “Wait until January.”

Louis groans, reaching out to shove at Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me that.”

Harry takes in another small breath, silently wishing that that small touch hadn’t made him break out in goosebumps. He gives Louis a delayed smile. “Just trying to prepare you.”

Louis shakes his head again, turning back to the kitchen when his machine beeps at him. Harry follows after him slowly, watching Louis fill up their mugs before he hands one of them to Harry.

“Well,” he starts, taking a small sip of his own, “You can start preparing me by taking a look at my furnace.” He winks at Harry over his cup, making Harry let out a small amused breath.

Harry shakes his head a bit, smiling again, very aware of how much he seems to be doing it around Louis. And very aware of how dangerous that fact is.

He wonders if Louis notices as well.

“Just direct me to it.”

Louis moves once again from the counter and walks back to the foyer, offering Harry another smile as he goes—Louis seems to smile a lot around him as well.

Harry reminds himself that he has no frame of reference to know how much Louis smiles around others—though, he remembers Gail had said he seemed sad. Harry isn’t sure what it is about him that made Gail come to that conclusion. But he knows that she’s not often wrong. And that not many people chose to move to a place like this unless there’s something they’re trying to get away from.

He shakes the thought from his head as Louis guides him back to the laundry room, passing through a large dining room on their way. It’s old, like the rest of the house, filled with dark wood. An antique light fixture hangs low from the ceiling in the middle of the room, hovering over Louis’ dining table. The table is plain and stiff, each chair pushed in to its exact place. It was clear that the room hadn’t been used—or that it was planned to be. As though Louis doesn’t plan to be entertaining guests anytime soon.

Louis flicks on the lights to the laundry room, walking to the other end of it and opening a small closet door to the right of his washer. He steps back from it, giving Harry a small smile before gesturing towards the large heating system inside. And large is in no way an overstatement. The thing is a behemoth, crowded into a tiny space. And ancient—Harry can tell just by looking.

Harry thanks Louis quietly, setting his coffee mug down on top of the washing machine and placing his bag beside it. He leans into the small closet, glancing around the giant contraption, trying to find its temperature gauge.

It takes a moment for him to realize that Louis is still there, leaning against the far wall. Watching Harry work as he continues to take tiny sips of his coffee. And it unnerves Harry just a little, feeling like he now has to prove himself as the handyman Gail advertised him as.

“Does Gail try to set you up with every guy that comes into town or am I just special?”

Harry almost swallows his tongue at Louis’ words, lifting his head up much too quickly and whacking it hard against a valve above him. He winces at the sudden pain, reaching up to put a hand on the back of his head.

He can hear Louis moving towards him, the sound of his coffee cup settling against the metal lid of the washer.

“Shit, Harry. Are you alright?”

Harry blinks his eyes open to see Louis’ concerned face, his own starting to feel a bit warm from embarrassment. “Um,” is all he manages to get out before Louis is putting a light hand on his arm.

“Here let me see.” He turns Harry slightly, so that he can inspect the back of his head. Harry lowers his hand so that he can do so. He takes in a few breaths as Louis checks for blood—or swelling, he’s not quite sure.

He can feel his heart hammering hard in his chest and he can’t tell if it’s from the pain in his head or from the surprise at Louis’ words.

“Alright,” Louis says after a moment, taking a step back, “Looks like you’re going to live.” He moves around to Harry’s front, a hint of concern still in his eyes as he searches over Harry’s expression. A small smile tugging at his lips. Harry looks down at his shoes. “Suppose that’s payback for you pushing me over in the snow, yesterday,” Louis says.

Harry reaches up to gently touch over the sore spot, his eyebrows furrowing slightly at Louis’ comment.

“I didn’t push you…” He glances up to see Louis smirking playfully at him.

Louis shrugs, “eh, details.”

Harry studies him for a moment, again not sure whether he should laugh. Feeling like he wants to anyway. He lets out an amused breath, the two of them staring at each other for another beat. Harry once again not knowing what to say.

“Let me get you an ice pack for that,” Louis says, finally breaking their silence. Harry watches him leave the room, listening to the distant sound of him opening his freezer.

Harry sighs, looking towards his feet again, this time his eyes catching on something near the base of the furnace. And of course, it’s the gauge, right in plain sight.

Louis returns with the compress and Harry thanks him for it, pressing it to his head with a small inhale through his nose.

“Sorry,” Louis says after a moment, voice a bit quieter as he grabs his mug again. And Harry can’t think of what Louis might be apologizing for, until he continues, “I didn’t mean to…” He nods towards Harry’s slight injury.

Harry shakes his head, his face starting to feel a bit warm again—he wishes that he could control that better. “No, no. It’s not your fault. I just… was um,” he stumbles over his words. Not sure if he should bring what Louis said back up. Not sure if that means he’ll have to address it.

“Surprised?” Louis offers.

Harry breathes out a small, self-conscious laugh. “It just wasn’t what I expected you to say,” he says quickly, putting the compress down for a moment and reaching for his toolkit. He crouches down to the temperature gauge, hoping that if he just focuses on his work the conversation topic will fade away. Though Harry isn’t sure if that just makes it all much worse. Leaving it hanging in the air, to distract the both of them every time they see one another.

He sniffs, clearing his throat just slightly before the words come tumbling out of his mouth without thinking, “She doesn’t, usually…” He glances up in Louis’ direction before looking back at the furnace, busying himself with it so that he doesn’t focus too much on Louis’ response. Or do anything else mildly embarrassing.

Louis hums after a moment. “So I’m special then, huh?”

Harry smiles wide, dimples carving their way into his cheeks, and he shouldn’t let that happen. Knowing that it only encourages the situation. And he knows, _he knows_ , it can’t be. It mustn’t be.

Harry doesn’t give Louis a response, instead reaching down to grab his screwdriver.

Louis stays silent after that, letting Harry continue his work in relative quiet. Though Harry can still feel his presence, Louis moving to sit up on the dryer at one point, his sock covered feet thudding lightly against the front of it.

Harry takes intermittent breaks to place the ice pack back onto his head, though any pain he felt has mostly dissipated. He admittedly uses it as an excuse to look up at Louis. Though, he supposes he doesn’t entirely need one. Louis looking back at him unabashedly every time.

Harry stands once he’s finished, giving Louis a small smile. “That should do it. For now, at least.” He picks his bag up off the washing machine, glancing back at his work. “Parts are going to need to be replaced soon though…” he looks up to see Louis nodding his head, not looking like he’s quite that interested in the state of his furnace.

He hops down from the dryer, giving Harry a smile. “Thanks, Harry. Honestly, it was very kind of you to do this.” He glances towards the ice pack on top of the washing machine. “Even if I did injure you on the job.”

Harry chuckles, reaching for the compress to hand it back to Louis. Murmuring, “I technically injured myself.”

Louis steps closer to Harry before taking it from him, his fingertips brushing over Harry’s as he does. In a way that feels a little purposeful. Harry almost shivers at how warm Louis’ skin feels against his own.

He watches Louis’ shoulders raise as he takes a deep breath and Harry wonders momentarily if it’s the cold of his skin that makes Louis do so.

He glances back up to Louis’ face to see his eyebrows pushed together, looking down at the ice pack now cradled in his hands.

“Everything alright?” Harry asks quietly.

Louis looks up at him before nodding his head, “yeah… I just,” he lets out a small amused breath. “I didn’t expect it to still be so frozen.”

\--

Harry falls face first onto his bed at 10 pm, exhaustion washing over him rapidly as he thinks about the day ahead of him.

Gail always makes such a big fuss about Christmas Eve—even more so than Christmas day. And they always end up making enough baked goods to feed a small village.

Harry still doesn’t know how she manages to get rid of them all before they go bad. Though he reckons that this year it’ll help to be able to give some to Louis.

Harry turns his head to the side, looking up at the window and the moon shining in on him—like always. A gust of wind knocks suddenly against the glass.

He lets out a small sigh, rolling over onto his back. “He _is_ very nice…” he mutters, letting his hands lay spread out at his sides, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, “and Gail likes him.”

The wind rattles his windowpane as though celebrating Harry’s small admittance. He turns his head again, watching the moon for another moment.

“He has nice eyes,” Harry adds, quietly, more to himself. Not sure if he wants anyone to hear it, feeling like it’s something he shouldn’t even let himself hear.

The wind offers its agreement anyway, whistling past and making Harry let out a barking laugh.

“Yes!” he says in return, voice louder, laughter still coating it, “He’s very handsome.” He closes his eyes, letting out a breath, “too handsome.” It’s a moment before he rolls back onto his side, letting out a frustrated groan, the wind swirling around a few times, rustling the leaves on the trees. “I don’t know!” He exhales heavily, feeling a strange giddiness bubbling up in his chest, mixing with the dread already nestled there.

He shakes his head, reaching up to cover his eyes for a long moment. “It’s a bad idea.” The wind stills. “For so many reasons.”

Harry lies in the quiet for a bit longer before he lets his hands fall back onto the mattress, a cloud slowly passing across the moon as he glances up.

His chest constricts lightly, in a way that he’d contribute to anxiety or fear if his thoughts weren’t so pointedly fixed on the feeling of Louis’ hand or the sound of his voice. He sighs again.

He’s going to give Gail a piece of his mind tomorrow. For instigating this. And for giving Louis false hopes.

And for doing the same to him.

He reaches up to pull back his covers, climbing under them quickly so that he can use sleep to stop himself from thinking.

\--

Harry carefully balances one of the presents on his arm so that he can reach for the door knob. He fumbles almost immediately, one present coming close to dropping into the snow. He catches it with a heavy exhale, glancing back at Gail’s door. Trying to decide his next move. He squats slightly after a moment, to press the doorbell with his elbow, standing back up after and shifting the boxes around in his hands. He waits patiently for Gail to answer the door, knowing she doesn’t move as fast as she used to.

He looks down over his pile, pursing his lips just slightly. He may have gotten her one too many gifts this year. But there were too many things at the store that reminded him of her.

He brought Louis’ present with him as well. Having finally decided to wrap it yesterday evening.

He knows Gail will be giddy at the opportunity to deliver it to him for Harry. Which also means Harry doesn’t have to be there, in case Louis hates it.

He hears the door open, looking up to give Gail a smile and to wish her a Merry Christmas.

Only it isn’t Gail.

“Hi Harry,” Louis greets him from the other side of the door.

“Louis.” Harry doesn’t do much to hide the surprise in his voice. He briefly wonders if he went to the wrong house by accident. Even though he knows he didn’t. A fact which is only reinforced by Gail appearing behind Louis a moment later. Her smile just a hint smug.

“You’re late, young man,” she scolds playfully. “We’ve already made our first batch of dough.”

Harry flicks his eyes down to the dusting of flour on Louis’ sweater.

“Now get in here and stop letting all the heat out,” Gail waves both Harry and Louis further inside, closing the door quickly behind them.

It’s warm inside, like always, but now amplified by the lit fireplace and the stove. Harry tries not to consider his proximity to Louis as another factor.

“Can I help you with those?” Louis asks softly, already reaching up to grab one of the presents Harry had been juggling.

Harry smiles gratefully, nerves only flashing through him briefly when he remembers that Louis’ gift is in the pile. Though, he supposes it was good he got him one, since he’s here.

He watches Louis carefully take two of the boxes, holding them delicately in his hands and flicking his gaze up to Harry. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly, as though he and Harry are sharing some secret joke. Though Harry’s not quite sure what the punchline is.

Louis steps back from him, carrying the gifts to the living room just as Gail shouts for Harry to join her in the kitchen.

He takes in a small breath, breaking himself out of the strange haze that his brief interaction with Louis had left him in. He quickly removes his shoes and his jacket, heading to where he was summoned, setting the remaining gifts on the table as he passes it.

He spots Louis out of the corner of his eye, standing by the Christmas tree, his expression peaceful. Harry catches himself before his eyes start to wander down the rest of Louis’ figure, turning his head resolutely towards the kitchen instead. _Dangerous, very, very dangerous._

Gail is standing by the stove, wearing her classic Christmas apron, decked out in frills. She glances over her shoulder at Harry, still looking much too self-satisfied. Harry raises his eyebrows at her before coming to stand next to her by the sink. He lets out another breath, already knowing she only called him in here to talk.

“I heard you two hit it off rather well,” she murmurs, cracking a few eggs into one of her large mixing bowls. Her voice is higher pitched than usual as though she’s trying to pretend that she couldn’t care one way or the other.

Harry refrains from rolling his eyes. He knows she heard it from Louis, not quite sure what he could have told her. His mind flicking back to almost cracking his head open on the furnace and waking Louis up too early in the morning. Though his mind slowly and suddenly begins to drift towards the thoughts he’d had the night before. He swallows, clearing his throat again.

“I heard,” he replies, turning his head to look at her pointedly, “That you aren’t being very subtle.”

She smiles a bit wider before knocking her hip against Harry’s. “Who said I was trying to be?”

Harry jostles a bit, staring back at her with slightly wider eyes. He opens his mouth to kindly inform her that she’s only making trouble. She doesn’t let him do so, nudging him again and pointing her head towards the living room as she turns on the stand mixer. “Go get ‘em.” She gives him a wink, waiting only another second before starting to physically push him in Louis’ direction.

Not giving him much time to protest, even though the mere thought of going out there and ‘getting ‘em’ is making his stomach flip. Not that he’s actually planning on doing anything of the sort. He bats her hands away once he’s standing in the archway between the two rooms, not wanting Louis to witness any of this ridiculousness.

Louis is still by the tree. He looks up at Harry after a short moment, giving him another smile. “How’s your head?” he asks lightly, just a hint of teasing in his voice.

And it takes Harry much too long to process what exactly his words mean before he lets out a small, amused breath. “It’s fine.”

Louis nods, stepping away from the tree and over to the tiny card table that Gail had set out just for the occasion. He sits easily in one of the chairs, clearly inviting Harry to do the same.

And he does, after a short moment, Louis continuing their conversation. “I was a bit worried when I sent you home. Thought you might have a concussion.”

Harry smiles, a part of him pleased that Louis was concerned. His eyes immediately catch on a movement of Louis’ hand and there’s a short, panicked moment when he thinks Louis might be reaching out for his own. Instead Louis brushes his fingertips over the plastic table cloth, tracing over the large poinsettia printed on it. Harry exhales heavily, shaking his head at himself for even having had the thought. He’s being much too jumpy. Harry looks back up at Louis’ face, seeing that he’s looking down at his hand as well. His eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

Louis lets out a soft breath, casual and effortless, his voice nonchalant. “Almost thought about checking in on you.” Louis’ eyes flick up to Harry’s immediately after his statement. A certain light to them that tells Harry Louis knows he’s been studying him.

Something flutters in Harry’s stomach before Louis takes in a deep breath, breaking their eye-contact again. Louis affects him too much. The word _dangerous_ passes through his mind again. He needs to create distance between them and he needs to do it now.

Louis shifts his positioning in the rickety chair, licking lightly over his bottom lip. “But then I remembered that I don’t know where your house is.”

“Six down from Gail’s, number 372,” the words leave Harry’s mouth immediately, without any hesitation. Because he’s an idiot and the blue-eyed boy in front of him clearly makes him lose his ability to think. He had been under the impression that he had come to an agreement with himself about this. But it seems that was not the case.

He reminds himself firmly that this isn’t something he can even entertain. And that it wouldn’t be fair to Louis if he did.

Louis lets out a small laugh, pressing his lips together to suppress a smile. The action causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle.

Harry forces himself to look away, letting himself be occupied by the Christmas tree instead. Glancing over the lights and the plastic snowflakes.

“I guess next time we see each other can be intentional then.”

Harry’s nerves prickle a bit at the statement. It’s exactly what he wanted to avoid. And yet, exactly what he had prompted. He can feel Louis looking at his profile.

He takes a small breath before directing his gaze towards him again, noting the way the corner of his mouth has turned up, his eyes bright. Coy almost. And Harry’s breath leaves him for a just a moment.

“Yeah,” he answers selfishly, so, so selfishly, “that would be nice.”

Louis smiles even wider, leaning back in his chair, the table cloth crackling softly as he spreads his palm out flat against it. “Let’s hope neither of us get injured this time,” he murmurs.

Gail takes that as her cue to enter the room, apron off and hair up in a bun.

Harry looks up at her, knowing that she was probably listening to their conversation. Her grin was too smug.

“Who wants to start a game of rummy?” she asks, clasping her hands together and already going to grab a deck of cards.

Louis gives Harry a small look, sharing that joke again, before responding, “I do.”

\--

_Harry felt ridiculous in his puffy coat. But they told him that he wasn’t allowed to play in the snow without it. Which seemed to be the only way to get him to agree to put one on. Even if he thought that he should be allowed to decide what he wears for himself. He was twelve now, after all. He was a ‘young man’ now, or so people told him. But whenever he tried to sneak outside without his stupid black jacket on, he was always caught and forced into it. And a hat, and gloves too, if they could get him to keep still for long enough._

_And if Harry hated wearing a coat, he hated wearing gloves even more. He had taken to tugging them off and hiding them in snowbanks when no one was watching. And when he was asked later what had happened to them he’d reply with a simple, “they fell off.”_

_He got in trouble after losing the fourth pair. They sent him to his room, informing him that he wouldn’t be allowed to play outside for the next few days. And that he was supposed to ‘focus on his school work instead’._

_Harry laid on his bed with a deep frown, repeating over and over again in his head that it wasn’t fair. And that if they hadn’t forced him to wear all of that junk in the first place, there wouldn’t be a problem._

_He turned his head to glance out the window. It was snowing._ _Big, white puffs adding to the large pile already accumulated on the ground. He blinked at it for a long moment, mesmerized by the way it seemed to float through the air. Harry wanted to stand in it._

_But he wasn’t allowed. Well—he wasn’t allowed to go outside._

_He stood from his bed, slowly walking to the window and hesitating for just a moment before he pressed his hand against the cool glass._

_He took in a deep breath, his eyes still fixed on the snow fluttering to the ground. He turned his gaze up towards the sky, squinting a bit at how bright it was before looking at the ceiling of his bedroom._

_He took his hand away from the window, scurrying quickly up onto his bed again, standing on top of it and stretching his hand as far as he could up towards the ceiling. He bounced on the mattress a few times before his fingertips were finally able to brush against the course texture._

_He stilled once he had, blinking at the spot for just a moment before a single puff of white fell slowly from it, landing gently on his bed. He spotted another out of his peripheral vision, closer to the door. And another, by his closet. And another. And another._

_He jumped from his bed, smiling widely up at his ceiling as the snow started to fall heavier onto his floor. He let out a sudden laugh, twirling just a little._

_Before he heard his bedroom door swing open and a sharp and sudden inhale. “Harry Styles, what have you done?_! _”_

\--

Harry stares at his coffee maker for another minute before looking at the clock again. Still debating whether or not it’s too late to make himself a cup. 8:23 gleams at him from the top of the stove.

He hums to himself, considering for just a moment longer before popping open the lid to the machine and reaching up into his cabinet for a filter, knowing full well that he’s about to mess up his sleeping schedule for the night. It’s Christmas, so he’s allowed to break a few rules.

Especially since he had dutifully fulfilled all of his duties for the day. He had spent most of the morning helping Gail pass out some baked treats to her friends. Getting invited in to chat at each house they visited.

They went their separate ways in the late afternoon, Gail heading into town to see her sister as Harry made his annual trip to the _Rosenburg_ , a movie theater in Eastport.

His own, personal, Christmas tradition.

 It was an old stage theatre, renovated some years prior, known for showing black and white films—and a few limited releases. They always seemed to have something different playing, never running out of classics to put on the big screen. But on Christmas it’s always _It’s a Wonderful LIfe_.

Harry smiles to himself for a moment as he thinks back to it.

He scoops some grounds into the top of his coffee maker, clicking the lid closed when his phone suddenly rings—his house phone.

He jumps just a bit at the loud noise, twisting around to stare at the receiver mounted to the wall, screaming at him like it knows about his late night coffee transgressions.

It takes him another moment to realize just how strange the occurrence is, since the only person who calls him on that phone is Gail. And she has a rather strict 8:30 bedtime.

His brows furrow as he quickly walks over to pick it up, pressing it to his ear with a concerned, “hello?”

“Harry?”

He should be surprised at the sound of Louis’ voice on the other end, but he still can’t help it from seeping into his tone. “Louis?”

“Hey…” Louis says, after a small moment of silence, “Um, I’m sorry to, um, interrupt your evening.”

There’s something in Louis’ voice that makes Harry’s eyebrows press together again. “Are you okay?” he asks, hearing his coffee machine start to boil behind him as Louis lets out a small breath on the other end.

“Gail gave me your number,” he starts and Harry doesn’t even have time to roll his eyes because _of course she did_ , before Louis continues on, “My, um.. well, my heat shut off about two hours ago and,” he lets out another breath, a mixture of amusement and worry, “Well, I can’t get it to turn back on.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise, already moving towards his front door to pull on his shoes. “It’s been out for two hours?” he asks, pulling the laces on his boots tight.

“Well that’s when I noticed it…” Louis lets out another, “I’m really sorry to have to call you like this.”

“Don’t be.” Harry shakes his head, already imagining how cold Louis’ house must have already gotten, especially considering that the older homes up here tend to be drafty and poorly insulated. He’s almost impressed that Louis waited so long to call. “I’ll come over and take a look at it, just give me ten minutes or so,” he says, hearing Louis let out a small relieved sigh.

“Thank you so much, Harry, really.” He pauses for a moment before adding, “I’ll pay you this time.”

Harry laughs, pulling on his jacket, “Don’t even think about it. I’ll see you soon, Louis.”

“See you soon, Harry.”

With that, Harry tosses the phone over onto his couch, grabbing his toolkit and heading out onto the street.

It looks like it snowed another inch or two since he’d been home. And it had gotten much colder. The wind swirls around him, picking up his hair and tossing it over his forehead before pushing his entire body back towards his door. He furrows his brows, tilting himself forward to brace against it, trudging ahead the best that he can. He shakes his head, muttering, “I’m going to see him.” He squints his eyes against the sharp gust that hits him next, “I thought you were encouraging this.”

The wind refuses to let up.

 

He’s out of breath when he arrives, and later than he said he’d be. The wind making him earn every step. Louis answers the door immediately once he presses the doorbell, looking at him with wide, concerned eyes. Harry steps inside quickly, thankful to be shielded against the cold air. Even if it’s not much warmer in Louis’ house. And though Harry doesn’t mind the cold, he can tell Louis does.

Louis’ bundled up in a thick jacket of his own, his nose red and arms folded across his chest. There’s a slight tremor in his body and it takes Harry longer than it should to realize what it is. Louis is shivering.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks, his eyes flicking down to Harry’s bare hands before supplying, “you must be freezing.”

Harry shrugs, taking in a deep breath to stop himself from panting, “’s a bit nasty out there.”

Louis’ gaze softens, as he lets out an amused breath, the corners of his mouth turning up. Those lines appearing by his eyes again. It’s strange, the effect Louis’ every little movement seems to have on him. A small breath escaping him even now as he looks down at him. And it shouldn’t be that way, not with the little amount of time that’s he’s known him. But it is.

Louis is quiet for a moment before speaking again, voice light. “You have snow in your hair.”

Harry blinks a bit at the comment, glancing up towards his forehead as though that would allow him to see it. He glances back at Louis just as he is shifting up onto his tip-toes, reaching out towards Harry’s hair. His movements slow, as though he’s waiting for Harry to stop him—and he should—but he doesn’t.

Louis gently brushes the pads of his fingers over the top of Harry’s curls, brushing the half-melted slush off of him as best as he can, murmuring quietly, “I’m surprised the tips didn’t freeze.” He drags his gaze down from Harry’s hair to his eyes. “You should have worn a hat.”

Louis holds his gaze for a moment as his words fade away into the small space between them. Something in Harry whispers to him suddenly, _they’re too close._

Louis’ fingertips settle somewhere near his temple before slowly sliding back into the strands there, his thumbs gently brushing over Harry’s cheekbones. Leaving a small trail of heat behind on his skin. Harry’s mouth feels dry. His eyes flick down to where Louis softly bites over his bottom lip. And Harry can feel him moving infinitesimally closer with each passing second.

“Probably should check out that furnace,” Harry says suddenly, voice a bit too loud in the quiet room. It startles Louis, who shifts back a bit, his eyes widening before he furrows his brows.

Harry holds his breath almost, watching as Louis carefully brings his hands back to himself. Nodding his head. Confusion is still evident in his expression, laced with something else—disappointment.

“Yeah,” Louis says after a moment, “Of course.” He gives Harry a small, slightly unsure smile before turning to walk towards the laundry room. 

Harry exhales heavily once Louis steps away, his heart beating against his ribcage as hard as it can. As though trying to punish him.

He toes off his boots quickly and with little coordination before following after Louis, like he had done before.

Louis steps out of his way once they get there, letting Harry open the closet door to inspect.

He presses his lips together immediately when he can’t hear it making any noise. He ducks inside, glancing around it carefully, ticking through a list of troubleshooting possibilities. He becomes less and less optimistic about his ability to do anything as time passes.

He steps back out of the closet after checking off his last option, glancing over at Louis who is leaning against the washing machine, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm.

Harry lets out a breath, and his expression must be giving away more than he means it to because Louis’ face falls immediately when he looks up. “That bad?”

Harry nods his head. “I.. I can’t fix this,” he admits, glancing back at the furnace, “You may need to get the whole unit replaced…”

Louis raises his eyebrows, pushing away from the washer to stand next to Harry, looking in at his ancient heating system himself.

“Shit,” he says after a moment, letting out a heavy breath and placing his hands on his hips. He turns towards Harry again. “Probably won’t be able to find someone to replace it today, huh?” he jokes lightly.

Harry shakes his head, gently adding, “Or to replace it tomorrow either.”

Louis takes in another breath, puffing out his cheeks before releasing it. “Merry Christmas,” he says, sarcasm dripping in his tone. He crosses his arms, tapping his toe a bit. And Harry knows that he’s imagining spending the next couple of days without heat.

“You can stay at my place,” Harry finds himself saying a moment later. Louis turns his head towards Harry, blinking at him a few times as Harry adds, “so that you don’t freeze.”

Louis lets out a breath, looking like he wants to smile, but not quite sure if he’s allowed to. “Really?” he asks, “I don’t want to put you out.”

Harry shakes his head, glancing down at his feet for a moment. “it’s not a problem.” He looks back up at Louis with a sniff, “You’ll be sleeping on a couch,” he adds. “But you’ll be warm.”

Louis does smile at that, taking a small moment before nodding his head. “Yeah, that would be great, actually.”

Harry nods his head as well, looking back at Louis for a moment before having to look down at his feet again.

“Just let me grab a few things,” he hears Louis say before he pads out of the room.

Harry hears the stairs creak somewhere above his head before he looks up again, flicking his gaze over to Louis’ useless furnace, muttering under his breath with a heavy sigh, “This is your fault.”

 

The wind decides to be nice on their walk to Harry’s house, both of them staying rather quiet as the snow crunches beneath their feet. Harry tries not to look up at Louis as they go. Instead planning out in his head exactly what he’s going to do when they get there. Wanting to avoid anything similar to what happened—and what almost happened—in Louis’ foyer. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to pull himself away a second time.

He turns up the path to his front door, Louis following him inside.

Harry immediately goes to the hall closet after shedding his winter clothes, grabbing out some blankets for Louis to use, carefully maintaining a distance between the two of them. Harry can see Louis glancing around a bit as he steps over to the couch, unfurling the sheets and spreading them out over the cushions as best he can.

Louis comes over after having removed his coat, to place his small bag down by the arm of the couch, murmuring a small, “thanks,” as he reaches down to grab the opposite end of the sheet. Helping Harry straighten it out.

And it only serves as a testament to just how tightly wound Harry is that the feeling of Louis tugging at the other side makes him release the blanket completely, standing up to his full height. He sees Louis’ eyebrows press together momentarily.

“Bathrooms at the end of the hall,” Harry says, thumbing towards it. Not quite making eye-contact with Louis as he speaks. “You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen.” He sees Louis nod out of the corner of his eye, his expression still furrowed, clearly noting Harry’s strange behavior.

His voice still manages to be soft when he murmurs a quiet, “Thanks Harry,” almost sounding warm. He glances towards Louis quickly to see him look down at his makeshift couch bed. “You really are too nice for your own good, you know that?”

Harry takes in a deep breath, suddenly letting himself recognize just how much he hates the large space in between them. “It’s really no problem,” he breathes out.

Louis flicks his gaze back up to him, catching Harry in it like he often tends to do. Harry can feel his heart beating a bit harder in his chest, feeling like that strange haze is around them again. Harry swallows, watching as Louis parts his lips, taking in a breath as though preparing to speak.

And Harry knows that he can’t let him. That there will be no going back if he does. “I need to go to bed. Goodnight, Louis.” His voice was too loud again, almost harsh. But he doesn’t stay long enough to see Louis’ reaction to it, not wanting to know.

He turns away, walking quickly towards his room, closing the door behind him and waiting until he hears it click before he lets himself exhale.

He presses his forehead against his bedroom door for just a moment. Louis’ earlier expression of disappointment flashes through his mind. He wonders if that how he looks now. Or if it’s something else. Something worse. And Harry knows it is better for everyone, if Louis loses interest in him. And that it’s Harry’s fault for encouraging him to begin with. He closes his eyes, wishing for a moment that he was strong enough to push him away completely or at least careless enough to give in.

He lets out a heavy sigh, picking himself up from the door and getting ready for bed.

As he lies down, turning off the lights, he tries not to imagine Louis coming to knock on his bedroom door. Or how much he wants him too.

And how he would probably let him in.

\--

Harry wakes up to the smell of coffee.

He blinks his eyes open, confused at first, it not seeming bright enough to be morning. He looks out his window to see the clouds covering the sky, the sun struggling to peek through.

Harry takes in a deep breath before sitting up, rubbing at his face. It takes him another moment to remember why he is smelling coffee without having made any himself.

He hears the floorboards in the kitchen creak, another sign of the other body in the house. Harry feels a wave of embarrassment wash over him at the memory of the previous night. He half considers lying back down and hiding under the covers for the rest of the day. But he suspects that Louis would eventually come and check on him—assuming that Harry hasn’t completely scared him off—and that option seems so much worse.

Harry lets out a small groan before forcing himself to get out of bed, taking as much time as he can to walk towards his door and out into the hallway. He makes as little noise as possible, so that Louis doesn’t hear him. And so he can abort mission and return to the safety of his bedroom without anyone being alerted to his presence.

The floor squeaks under his weight when he reaches the edge of the living room and Harry squeezes his eyes shut at the noise, letting out a breath. He opens his eyes again, stalling there for just a moment. Before he steps into the living room, passing through it quickly to head into the kitchen.

Louis is standing by the coffee maker, much like Harry had been the night before. His hair is tuffed up in the back, no doubt pushed up by the hood of his sweatshirt while he was sleeping. A sweatshirt that he’s practically drowning in. It looks more Harry’s size than Louis’.

He immediately blinks away the flurry of thoughts that causes until his mind snags on one. That maybe the sweatshirt isn’t Louis’ and it belongs to someone else. Someone Harry’s size—but who isn’t Harry.

Harry purses his mouth, knowing he has no right to the soft pang of jealousy he feels. He lets out a heavy breath, the quiet noise finally making Louis aware of his presence.

Louis turns to look at Harry, watching him for a moment before giving him a quick, small smile.

He looks back at the coffee maker, asking quietly, “Do you want a cup?”

Harry nods his head, even though he knows Louis can’t see it, walking further into the room. Already sensing something off about Louis’ behavior. Though he can’t be sure if he’s just imagining it. Or if it’s due to the early morning and a night spent on a couch.

Louis scratches at his side a bit, bringing his mug up to take a sip as Harry goes to stand next to him.

Louis shifts out of his way. Giving him plenty of room to make his coffee.

“You sleep okay?” Harry asks after a moment. Feeling like the room is much too quiet.

Louis nods.

The sound of the coffee pouring into Harry’s cup fills the silence for only a moment, though it is still just as uncomfortable.

“Did you?” Louis asks in return. Though the question seems a bit forced—like he was searching for something else to say.

Harry nods.

He glances over at Louis after a moment as he grabs his coffee, Louis looking down at his mug with his eyebrows pressed together like they had been the night before. His mouth scrunched up in thought.

“Harry,” he says, finally, “About yesterday...”

The words land heavily in Harry’s stomach and he looks down just as Louis looks up again, continuing, “At my house,” Harry hears Louis clear his throat. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Harry tilts his head slightly, they aren’t the words Harry was expecting, though he’s beginning to understand that Louis never says anything expected. He takes in a deep breath, the quick memory of Louis’ hands in his hair making him fidget.

“If,” Louis says, voice a bit quieter, breaking off for a moment as he shifts his positioning. As though searching for the next thing to say. “I understand,” he settles on, “If you aren’t interested.”

Harry’s gaze flicks up towards Louis immediately to find Louis already looking back at him, expression neutral. And Harry doesn’t even know how to process what was just said to him. Having thought that his behavior would make Louis lose interest. And instead he’d made Louis think that he didn’t want him.

And it dawns on him, how easy it would be to agree with Louis’ statement. To officially put an end to the charade that Gail had started. And avoid the inevitable mess that following through with it would cause.

But he couldn’t get his mouth to open, the words seeming too difficult for him to say.

His silence does the job for him. Louis nods after a short moment, setting his mug onto the counter with a small, “okay.” And the word shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

Louis looks back up at him after a moment, giving him another quick smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, I have some errands I need to run,” Louis says, already walking back towards the living room. “And I need to find a mechanic,” he adds with a hasty amused breath. “I’ll, um, probably be back this evening.” Louis looks up at Harry again, only sounding a little unsure, “If that’s alright.”

Harry nods, not sure what to say. Knowing it’s probably best for him to say nothing.

Louis gives him another tight-lipped smile before disappearing into the living room.

Harry stays in the kitchen until he hears Louis leave out the front door. Before he goes to get dressed himself, quickly pulling on a coat and stepping out into the snow. He starts to walk in the direction of Gail’s house. Leaving his coffee on the counter, already cold.

\--

The fire pops lightly as Harry adds another log. The brightness of the flame increases just a bit more, illuminating the room and spreading heat over his face.

It’s almost nine and Louis isn’t back yet. He isn’t sure if he should be worried or if he really even has a right to be. He lets out a breath before setting back from the fireplace and sitting gently on the edge of the couch. As though he’s afraid of messing up the sheets laid out for Louis—even if they’re already a bit of a mess anyway.

Harry stares at the fire until his vision starts to blur. He feels a strange, horrible anxiety weighing in his chest. And he can’t tell if it’s from the idea of Louis suddenly walking through the front door or of him not coming back at all.

Harry lets out another heavy breath, pressing his palms hard against his knees, wanting to distract himself from how he feels. He briefly considers making himself tea, to calm his nerves. Or even turning on the TV. But he can’t bring himself to do either, bouncing his leg lightly and staring at a spot on the floor.

He abruptly stops the motion after a moment, leaning back heavily against the back of the couch and tilting his head to look up at the ceiling. He takes in a deep breath, slower this time, letting his eyes fall closed on an exhale.

His mind immediately takes him to the night before, the sight of Louis’ eyes so close to his own. His fingertips pressed against Harry’s temples. And Harry silently wishes that he had kissed him.

That he had given in and damned the consequences. That he hadn’t spent the night in bed alone. And that the morning hadn’t been filled with quiet regret.

That he could have been have be able to walk to Gail’s house that morning with a smile on his face and watched as she clasped her hands in delight when he informed her that her meddling had paid off.

Instead he was faced with a concerned gaze as he murmured quietly to her that _nothing was ever going to happen._

He opens his eyes again, watching the way the soft light from the fireplace flickers against the ceiling. Reminding himself, for what seemed like the hundredth time, that even in his happier version of events, it wouldn’t end well. Not with the way things were.

He hears the door click open then, as he lifts his head up to see Louis stepping carefully inside, clearly trying not to make too much noise. Harry wonders if Louis thinks he’s already gone to bed. If it had been his intention to come back after Harry had done so.

He watches as Louis takes off his boots and his winter gear, stepping down the tiny half-step into the living room.

Louis notices the fire first, brows furrowing before he glances to the couch, his eyes catching on Harry. He stills, blinking at him for a moment before walking closer, pace slower that it was before. “Hey,” he says softly, rounding the side of the couch, “I didn’t see you there.” He gives Harry a smile, small, but more genuine than anything from that morning.

Harry smiles back, nodding in the direction of the fireplace, “Seemed like a good night for a fire.”

Louis hums, settling himself onto the opposite side of the sofa.

Silence washes over them again. But it doesn’t feel as tense as it had earlier in the day. It’s almost peaceful.

Whether Harry feels that way because he’s tired or because the darkness of the room makes him feel less exposed, he isn’t sure, but he’ glad that when he speaks again it doesn’t feel like the words are placed there just to fill a gap in conversation. “Did you find someone to replace your furnace?”

“I did, I did,” Louis says, his voice a bit distant. Harry glances at him to see that his gaze is lost somewhere in the fire. Louis takes in a small breath before turning his head suddenly to look back at Harry, as though he could feel him watching. “Said he’d be able to come by tomorrow, in the afternoon, sometime.” The corner of Louis mouth quirks up just a hint, “So I won’t be in your hair for much longer.”

The words once again bring back the sudden sensation of Louis’ hands carding through the curls at the side of his head.

He wonders if Louis realizes the association too, his gaze quickly returning to the fireplace. Those delicate hands of his curling into fists near his knees.

“I’m sure it’ll be nice to have your home back,” Harry supplies after a moment, not wanting their conversation to die quite yet. Wanting to hear Louis’ voice, knowing he may not see him around as much anymore.

Louis lets out a breath, admitting, “not sure I’d call it a home yet.” He blinks a few times after saying it, as though he hadn’t meant to divulge that information. Quickly adding, “I haven’t been here very long…”

Harry studies his profile for a moment, suddenly remembering one of the first things Gail had said about him. That he had seemed sad. Harry now wondered if this was why. He hadn’t quite understood it before, Louis always showing him bright eyes and smiles. But now, he can see it settling in at the corner of Louis’ mouth.  

Louis picks at the fabric of his jeans and Harry watches the movement with a soft hum.

“Where were you before that?” he wasn’t sure he’d ever asked. He knew there was so much about Louis that he didn’t know. Answers to the questions that he’d asked himself about him that he wasn’t privy to.

“Atlanta.”

Harry lets out a rather sudden small laugh, some of the fog around them lifting as he does, brightening the room for just a moment. “That’s a bit of a change isn’t it?”

Louis looks up at him, letting out a small amused breath of his own. “Yeah it is… bit of a startling transition.” Louis glances back at the fire, his eyes softening again, “I went to college there, never thought I would leave.” His voice is quieter when he speaks again, distant, as though speaking to himself, “Funny how life always goes against your expectations.”

A silence falls between them for a moment, Harry keeps his eyes on Louis’ profile. The moment feels private somehow, like he’s watching Louis through a pane of glass. He keeps his voice as quiet as Louis’, as he speaks, not wanting to shatter it. “What made you leave?”

He sees the corner of Louis’ mouth pull up in a wry smile, the light of the fire reflecting in his eyes as he lets out a small breath. Harry furrows his brows at his expression. It’s so different than how he normally looks, as though he feels as protected by the darkness of the room as Harry does. Allowing him to break through to layers of Louis he hadn’t seen before. “His name is Cameron.” he says after a moment.

Harry lets out a heavy breath, thinking back to that morning. The too large sweatshirt hanging from his frame. The brief snap of unearned jealousy that had run through him. “Oh.” It slips from his mouth without meaning to before adding a quiet, “I’m sorry.” Not sure what else he can say.

Louis turns his head, watching Harry for a moment, before he lightly shakes his head. “Don’t be.”

Harry’s eyebrows press together as he studies Louis’ expression, still noting the sadness at the edges of it. He wants to make it go away, to smooth them out of his skin. But he doesn’t know how.

A part of him worrying that he contributed to that sadness.

Louis’ shoulders tense, suddenly, his eyes blinking a few times as a small shiver runs through him. And Harry isn’t sure if it’s intentional. If it’s Louis shaking himself away from the thought. Placing back the expression he normally wears for Harry, a smile returning to his lips. “I do miss heat though. Georgia’s got this place beat on that.”

Harry watches Louis’ smile, eyeing it for a moment. Before slowly giving Louis one of his own, glancing back at the fireplace with a small exhale, thinking through Louis’ words. Voice a bit quieter, “I’ve never been anywhere else, so I don’t have much to compare it to.”

Louis scoffs, the noise drawing Harry’s attention back to him, brows furrowing at Louis’ incredulous expression. “That’s not true,” Louis says, tone a bit amused. Before explaining, “You’re gone for most of the year.” He pauses for a moment, studying Harry’s expression with a small smile. “Must be going somewhere.”

Harry stares back at him for a long moment, finally giving him a small shrug and a tiny smile. “Nowhere important.”

Louis’ expression softens a bit at Harry’s answer and Harry is more than thankful that there’s nothing questioning behind his gaze.

“Thank you,” Louis says, voice quiet. Again. Not the words Harry expected. “For being so nice. About everything.”  And Harry knows he’s talking about the conversation and the furnace and letting him stay over. But there’s something else, beneath the words, floating in the background. And Harry can’t quite get himself to move past it.

_Thank you for letting me down easy_

And it tugs at Harry’s lungs in a way that’s almost startling. The regret washing over him heavier than it had for most of the day.

“You’re wrong you know,” Harry says, barely able to hear himself say it through the blood pounding in his ears, exhaling a breathy, “I am interested.”

Louis’ jaw tenses slightly as he stares back at Harry, his expression remaining unchanged. Time passes irregularly in the short moment before Louis speaks, feeling both too long and too short.

“Harry.”

The sound of his name leaving Louis’ mouth shocks his system in a way that shouldn’t be possible. He breaths in sharply though his nose, breathing out his own soft, “yes.”

Louis’ mouth parts, in the same way it had the night before, his eyes roaming over Harry’s expression. “Can I kiss you?”

“ _Please_.”

The word feels too good to say, indulgent almost, as Harry’s heart stutters in his chest. Not letting his mind wander to any feelings of concern or worry over the consequences, allowing them to be overshadowed by the intense need to have Louis’ warm skin pressed against his. To feel his mouth against his own.

He watches as Louis slowly shifts closer to him, settling in the space next to him so suddenly and so slowly that Harry isn’t sure how to react. His head feels fuzzy as though he’s not getting enough oxygen, and he can’t be sure that he is. Gasping in small periodic breaths as Louis flicks his eyes up towards Harry’s, tilting his head just a bit as he leans towards him. He keeps their mouths an inch a part, his nose brushing lightly against Harry’s cheek.

Harry can feel Louis’ warm breath against his lips, so close to him that it’s almost painful. He lurches forward to finally close the gap between them, but Louis pulls back, pressing a light hand to Harry’s chest. Looking almost amused when Harry blinks up at his expression, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Like he’s toying with Harry, making him pay for what happened that morning.

And God it only makes Harry want him more. “ _Louis_ ,” he breaths out softly, not doing much to hide the desperation in his tone. Almost feeling helpless, lost in how much he needs this, now that he’s let himself give into it.

Louis reaches up slowly, pressing his thumb against Harry’s top lip, before carefully tracing it down to the corner. His touch light and burning. Louis looks down at the action, letting out a small breath of his own, voice just above a whisper, “you’re always so cold.”

He flicks his eyes up towards Harry’s and neither of them can wait any longer. Louis surges up just as Harry reaches down to wrap his arms around Louis’ waist, their mouths pressing together hard. Both already breathless with it.

 

Louis drags Harry down onto the couch with him, the two of them tugging and pulling at the unnecessary barriers between their skin, until Harry can feel Louis pressed against him. His heat making Harry shiver. The light from the fire slowly fades as Harry presses his mouth to every contour of Louis’ body, watching the way the shadows against his skin change as they both are slowly surrounded by the darkness of the room. The two of them barely taking note of it until much later, when Louis is tucked into Harry’s side, his fingertips dancing across Harry’s chest. And even then, it’s only noticed to comment on the brightness of the moon.

\--

Harry feels the soft brushing against his temple before he opens his eyes. And he can’t quite place what it is. Or why he’s so warm. Until he feels Louis’ leg slide up against his.

He opens his eyes slowly, looking up to see Louis already awake beside him, touching lightly over the side of Harry’s head. He flicks his gaze down towards Harry’s when he sees him open his eyes, both of them watching each other for a small moment as though not sure if a sudden movement will break the little cocoon they’ve built around themselves.

Louis shifts down just a little, so that his eyes are level with Harry’s, their bodies still pressed impossibly close. The size of the couch not giving them many other options. Though Harry doesn’t imagine things would be much different if they were in a bed.

“Hi,” Louis finally says, voice barely making any noise.

Harry lets out a small breath, the corners of his mouth turning up lightly. Slowly repeating the greeting with his own quiet, “hi.”

Louis pushes at his chest a bit, smiling as well. Still keeping everything between them quiet and easy. Harry wonders if Louis’ afraid he’ll run off again. He won’t. Not now.  

Harry bends his head forward just slightly, letting his eyes fall closed again as he brushes his nose against Louis’. His hands come up to rest on his upper back, moving in slow, small circles, his fingertips touching lightly over his skin.

Louis lets out a soft sigh, shifting his position a bit to press their mouths together, humming into it lightly before pulling back to blink up at Harry again. His mouth scrunched to the side.

“I have to go wait for my mechanic,” he finally murmurs, looking down to where his hand is pressed against Harry’s sternum. Curling himself in towards Harry a bit more—making it clear that he doesn’t want to go.

Harry isn’t much inclined to let him. But he knows he must. Especially when Louis pushes back from him again, turning onto his back.

Harry waits for him to stand, already preparing himself for how much colder he’ll feel without him. But Louis doesn’t move quite yet, looking back at Harry again, expression more serious than it had been before.

“Is this going to happen again?” Louis asks, voice quiet and questioning, and laced with uncertainty.

Harry eyes flick over Louis’ expression, already knowing the answer to his question. Without needing to give it much thought.

“Yes,” Harry says, letting out a small breath, nerves suddenly kicking up in his stomach at the admittance, “yes it will.”

 

And it does, though, not as soon as Harry expected. Some days passing after Louis kisses him goodbye on the couch. And it’s strange how long it seems, having seen Louis almost every day before then. Even by accident. He keeps expecting to run into him when he’s out. Thinking he sees him in the strangers he passes at the grocery store.

And he doesn’t understand why he can’t just get himself to go to Louis’ house. To knock on the door. But he’s not sure what he would say, if he’d need to say anything at all.

And it seemed that Louis was thinking the same thing.

Both of them staring at each other from a great distance—waiting for the other to make the first move.

 

Finally, Harry’s doorbell rings at 10 pm. And even before he opens the door he knows who is on the other side.

Louis looks up at him with his hands stuffed into his pockets, his cheeks red from the cold. His gaze snaps up to Harry’s quickly, the two of them watching each other for a long moment before Louis lets out a breath, speaking slowly, carefully, “My, um, furnace is making a weird noise…” It couldn’t be a more obvious lie, Harry’s face breaking out in a wide smile, reaching out for the sleeve of Louis’ jacket, pulling him inside and closing the door behind them.

\--

_Harry rubbed at his eyes as he let out a tiny yawn. He could tell it was early, even with the sun shining brightly in the sky. He hopped out of bed quickly, hoping to find time to go outside before he had to head to school._

_He didn’t even bother to change out of his pajamas, rushing out of his bedroom and into the kitchen so that he could sneak out the back door without anyone noticing that he didn’t have his jacket on._

_Someone let out a loud scream when he rounded the corner, causing him to jump back a few feet. Blinking at the source of the noise._

_She jumped up from the table, rushing over to Harry and sinking to her knees, her arms wrapping tightly around him. He stiffened at the sudden contact, brows furrowing as he heard her slowly start to sob against his shoulder, one of her hands coming up to pet at the back of his hair._

_He wasn’t sure what to do, or why she was upset. He carefully raised a hand to place against her back._

_Her voice wobbling horribly as she repeated over and over, “Where did you go? Where did you go?”_

_Harry furrowed his brows, before saying he was sorry. Feeling like he might have done something wrong. But he wasn’t sure what._

_He hadn’t gone anywhere._

\--

New Year’s passes in a flurry, Harry and Louis once again ending up at Gail’s house. She’s practically beside herself every time Harry and Louis so much as look at each other. 

She reminds them both at least five different times throughout the evening that they have her to thank. Which would almost be endearing if she wasn’t quite so smug about it.

They ring in the new year with a few glasses of champagne and poorly played game of Yahtzee, Gail falling asleep in her armchair almost immediately after the strike of midnight—having greatly exceeded her set bedtime.

Louis and Harry walk home together, giggling a little as they knock each other’s hips and pinch at each other’s waists. Both of them a little breathless by the time they reach Harry’s house. Louis offers to walk him to his door, only to end up kissing him against it.

He doesn’t make it back to his own house.

\--

“Louis,” Harry says, brows furrowed. “You’re going to kill yourself doing that.”

Louis glances over his shoulder, looking down at Harry from where he stands, on top of one of Harry’s stools. “It’s not my fault your cabinets are so high.” He turns back to rummage through one of the top shelves, searching for Harry’s fondue pot. Even though Harry’s very positive Gail snuck off with it while he was gone.

“It’s not my cabinet’s fault you’re so short,” Harry throws back, with a small smile.

Louis gives him a look, leaning towards the next cabinet, the stool wobbling slightly underneath him. Harry lunges forward almost immediately, his heart hammering in his chest before the stool settles again. He shakes his head before looking up at Louis, voice a bit more firm, “Okay, you’re getting down now.”

“Harry It’s fine,” Louis says, almost rolling his eyes before the stool lets out a pitiful creak. He glances down at Harry who stares back up at him with widened eyes. Louis finally nods his head after a moment, “Okay, I’m getting down now.”

Harry lets out a heavy relieved breath before moving a bit closer to Louis, wanting to help him down. Louis is already shifting his weight to dangle one of his legs over the side of the stool. He almost has one foot on the ground before the stool slides out from underneath him. Both of them sucking in a sudden surprised breath as Harry quickly reaches out to grip tightly onto Louis’ hand, pulling him up into his chest so that he doesn’t slip back and hit his head against the tile.

There’s a short moment after that they both stand there, breathing heavily, Harry’s heart pounding in his ears. He glances down at Louis after, wanting to make sure he’s alright.

Louis eyes almost look like they’re about to pop out of his head, both of them fixed firmly on his and Harry’s connected hands.

Harry follows his gaze with a furrowed brow. His heart almost stopping at what he sees.

Their hands, encased in a small chunk of ice, ending at their wrists, locking the two of them together.

Harry’s throat closes up, everything around him feeling fuzzy and blurred. He wants to take it back. He wants to be able to stop this moment from going any further. But he can’t. Louis’ already seen it. It’s all already been ruined.

Louis starts to breathe a bit rapidly, slowly looking up at Harry, like he isn’t quite sure how to process what’s happening. He shakes his head just a little, his expression rapidly shifting between a range of emotions. Before finally looking back down at their hands, breathing out a small, “ _what the hell?_ ”

Harry feels stuck, not knowing what to do. What he should say. Whether he could get away with denying the whole thing, brushing it off.

“Louis,” he finally murmurs, voice much too quiet, “I can explain.”

Louis’ eyebrows press together, his head snapping up to look back at Harry’s face. Almost looking offended. As though he can’t possibly imagine what Harry could have to say that would explain what’s happening.

And Harry prays that it won’t be how he looks at him when he tells him.

“I… I do it without noticing sometimes….” He says, his voice quiet, afraid it would shake if he spoke any louder. “I guess I….” he lets out a heavy breath, “I just didn’t want you to fall…”

Louis stares at him with wide-eyes, as though his words aren’t quite making sense. “You…” He shakes his head, color slowly leaving his cheeks. He closes his eyes, letting out a heavy breath, “Harry what the hell is happening?”

Harry immediately recognizes the edge of fear in Louis’ tone. He reaches out with his free hand to thumb over his shoulder, hoping that his touch is still welcome there. “It’s alright,” he says softly, not sure if entirely believes the words himself. But he knows Louis needs to hear them. “It’s alright.”

Louis relaxes into Harry’s hand slightly, letting out a few more heavy breaths before opening his eyes.

Harry bites down on his bottom lip, before slowly starting to guide Louis over towards the kitchen sink, keeping his eyes on his. Trying to keep him calm.

He looks away from him for just a moment, reaching over to turn on the water, getting it to a warm temperature before slowly lifting their joined hands up and under the spray.

He can see Louis tense up again, Harry’s chest constricting as they both stare down at the slowly melting ice.

It’s a long moment of silence, Harry feeling like he needs to say something, to explain more. But not sure if he’ll only make it worse—and not sure if he can get through it without his voice breaking. His mind repeatedly playing back Louis’ expression when he first realized.

He doesn’t look at his expression now. Not sure he could handle seeing it.

“You did it by accident,” Louis finally says, the words a small shock to Harry’s system. It’s a question, though Louis doesn’t say it like one. His voice sounding distant and small, almost like he’s talking in his sleep.

Harry glances quickly over to him, before looking away again, still not ready to see his reaction. “Some-“ he cuts himself off, his voice coming out scratchy and dry. He swallows a few times, trying again, “Sometimes I do…” He fidgets, not sure how to even explain it all, never having to do so before. “Usually it’s on purpose… but I-I don’t do it that often…”

Louis lets out a sudden breath, almost sounding like a sigh and Harry chances a glance at his expression. It isn’t disgusted or afraid in the way that Harry had feared it would be. Instead it’s blank, as though Louis is too busy trying to process everything to put any effort into emoting.

He looks over towards Harry, holding his eye contact for just a moment before slowly clarifying, “freeze… things?”

Harry swallows again, twisting his mouth to the side before nodding his head.

Louis nods slowly back at him before glancing back at the sink, his eyes fixing onto their hands again, getting closer to being freed from one another.

“So you can’t melt things?” Louis asks, quietly. A question that would almost be funny if it wasn’t asked with such flat affect.

Harry shakes his head, still watching Louis. Unable to look away now that he’s allowed himself to. He wants to see him smile. To be normal. But a large part of him fears that he may never been normal towards Harry again. “Do you… do you not believe me?” he asks lightly, not sure if that would be a better alternative. If Louis thought he was a liar. That maybe this was all just some elaborate joke he was playing on him.

Louis takes in a deep breath, as though seriously considering his answer. After a moment, he lifts his and Harry’s hands up slightly in the sink, a section of the ice cracking at the movement. Louis nodding his head, “I think I kinda have to.”

Harry’s throat thickens again, and he knows he’s going to start crying. He can already feel the tears welling near the corners of his eyes, lungs constricting. He lets out his first sob without wanting to. Not wanting Louis to see him cry. Not wanting Louis to try to hide his real feelings just to stop his tears. He ducks his head down just a bit, trying to muffle any more sounds.

But he can already feel Louis’ eyes on him, watching him cry into his shoulder. It’s a moment before Louis speaks again, his voice considerably softer than it had been before, “What else can you do?”

Harry shrugs, taking in a few shaky breaths, sniffing lightly as he does. Louis doesn’t actually want to hear this, he knows he doesn’t. He’s just being nice, like he always is.

“Can you make it snow?”

Harry turns his head to look at him, almost letting out another sob when he catches sight of his eyes. He takes another deep breath instead, swallowing. Watching as Louis stares back at him. And Harry slowly realizes that there isn’t any pity there, but rather a gentle curiosity even a hint of encouragement. And unease, of course, unease. But there’s no malice, no want to push himself as far away from Harry as he can. Harry keeps his eyes on Louis’, letting it ground him slightly, settling himself enough to fully process Louis’ question. He feels a few more tears roll down his cheeks, reaching up to wipe at one of his eyes before nodding his head.

Louis lets out a small breath. Voice even quieter when he asks, “Can you show me?”

 

Harry’s eyes are still puffy when they stand out in his tiny backyard. Louis is just in the doorway, too cold to step out completely—and probably wanting to keep a bit of a distance between himself and Harry. Which Harry can’t quite blame him for.

Harry sniffs a few times before taking in a deep breath and tilting his head towards the sky. He hesitates for a moment, feeling like there really isn’t any going back after letting Louis see this. He hears Louis shift behind him and he closes his eyes for just a moment.

Slowly, Harry lifts one of his hands up towards the sky, opening his eyes again when he feels it fully extending. He flexes his fingers for just a moment, feeling the way the cool breeze brushes past his skin. He trails his hand back down slowly, blinking up at the spot above for just a moment before seeing the first flake fall.

He places his hand back into the pocket of his jacket, looking down at his shoes for a moment, seeing his work growing exponentially as more and more of it falls around his feet. He sniffs again.

A soft crunch behind him makes him turn around to see Louis slowly approaching from the back door, his eyes a bit wider and his mouth parted as he stares up at falling snow that encircles where Harry is standing.

Louis blinks a few times, his eyes following a few of the flurries down until he’s looking at Harry. The two of them watching one another for a short moment. Harry can hear his heart beating in his chest, waiting for Louis to tell him that it’s too much.

Instead, Louis let out a breath, shaking his head lightly. “Harry this…” he scoffs almost, slowly reaching his hand out to catch a few of the flakes in his hand. “This is incredible.”

Harry takes in another shaky breath, blinking at the moisture forming again in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly, looking back down.

The feeling of Louis’ hands on his arms shouldn’t be as shocking as it is, with how much he’d felt them there in the weeks prior. And yet the touch has him quickly snapping his head back up to stare at Louis with soft surprise.

Louis glances between his eyes for just a moment his thumbs brushing over the outside of Harry’s jacket. His voice quiet, and soothing. And warm, “There’s nothing for you to apologize for.” He steps closer to Harry, his hands slowly wrapping around his back, “It’s okay,” pulling Harry into his chest, “It’s okay.”  They stand like that for a long moment, the snow slowly coming to a stop overhead. “How long have you been able to…?” Louis says, voice gentle, as though afraid his questions will upset Harry again.

“For as long as I can remember,” he replies, thinking back as far as he can. To being a child, drawing shapes in frost against his windowpane.

Louis’ next question was inevitable. “Can you do it even if it’s not cold outside?”

And there it is. The part that Harry hadn’t gotten to yet. The part that was going to be the hardest. “I don’t know…” he says quietly. “I-I don’t know what it feels like for it to not be cold outside.”

He feels Louis stiffen around him just slightly, though not pulling away. “What do you mean?”

Harry sighs, turning his head against Louis’ shoulder, knowing this will be more difficult to explain than the rest. “Louis, when I go away for the rest of the year, I don’t actually _go_ anywhere…” He blinks a few times, pressing his lips together for a moment, “I’m just not here.”

“I don’t understand.”

Harry can feel Louis’ skin growing cold, from both the weather and the topic of conversation, he’s sure. He steps back from him, lightly grabbing onto his hand before walking them back towards the house. He can see the immense confusion in Louis’ face. And Harry wishes that there was a better way to inform him about all of this.

He closes the back door softly behind him before looking back up at Louis, still watching him expectantly.

Harry lets out a sigh, and says it in the simplest way he can, “I go to bed on March 20th and I wake up on December 21st. And for me…” he lets out another breath, shaking his head a bit, “It doesn’t feel like a single day has passed.”

Louis blinks, the words slowly settling around them. “So, for the rest of the months you just…”

“I don’t exist.”

And Harry can see the way the information hits Louis, his expression dropping suddenly, his shoulders slumping. Because there is a world of difference between being somewhere else for nine months and not being anywhere at all. Between voluntarily choosing to go—and potentially to stay—and having no choice in the matter. Between nine months of phone calls and visits and texts. And nothing.

Louis nods slowly. The word, “oh,” falling from his mouth after a long moment.

Harry looks down, forbidding himself to cry again. Even if his heart was sinking into his stomach.

He hears Louis take a small step closer, a moment later he feels his finger pressing lightly under his chin, gently tilting his head up. Harry blinks up at him, his chest tight.

Louis gives him a small smile, one that isn’t quite sad, but isn’t quite happy either. His voice in that soothing tone again, “March 20th is a long way away…”

Harry takes in a deep, shaky breath, reaching forward to wrap his arms around Louis again. Falling into his hold as Louis places his hands onto his back as well. He feels Louis rub small circles into his skin.

Voice a whisper, “We have lifetimes between now and then.”

\--

“Does that still look crooked?” Louis asks, adjusting the picture again and taking another hasty step back.

Harry leans his head just a little trying to view it as straight on as he can. “It looks fine to me.”

Louis hums, stepping back to tweak it again, the action making Harry smile lightly. Knowing it will probably occupy Louis for most of the evening. He turns his body, spreading out a bit more on Louis’ couch, getting himself comfortable for a night full of watching Louis mess with his new painting.

Harry tucks his hand over the arm-rest of the couch, blinking at Louis lazily as he pushes the right side up slightly this time. “Louis,” he finally says, with a small chuckle. “It’s fine.” He hears Louis start to hum again, so he cuts him off, patting at the couch, “Come over here.” He smiles, “You’ll have a better view of it from this angle anyway.”

Louis looks over at Harry, studying him for a moment, before slowly smiling and letting out a heavy sigh. He walks over to him slowly, almost dramatically, Harry letting out a small amused breath as he does. Louis finally settles himself in Harry’s lap, leaning his body back against his chest as he stares up at the painting on his wall.

“See,” Harry says softly, turning his head to whisper in Louis’ ear, “It looks perfect.” He presses a few solid kisses to the corner of Louis’ jaw, his eyes falling closed as Louis lets out another one of his hums.

“It’s leaning to the left.”

Harry feels Louis try to stand again, squeezing his arms tight around his center. “No, no, you aren’t going anywhere.”

Louis purses his lips, trying to stop himself from smiling as Harry’s fingers dig into his sides, still struggling against his hold. “Harry, it’s off center          !”

Harry presses more kisses to the side of Louis’ face, shifting them both down onto the couch so that gravity can help him make Louis stay put. He hears Louis giggling quietly at him even as he pushes back against his face—to stop Harry’s kisses.

Harry finally gives up with a groan and a smile, throwing his hands up as he shifts back into a sitting position. Louis quickly jumps up with a small squeeze to Harry’s knee, going over to slightly tilt the canvas one more time.

Harry lets out a breath, settling his hands down on the couch, watching Louis with a small, content smile.

He jerks his hands back after a moment, letting out a small noise, having felt something moving underneath them.  He blinks down at the fabric, his brows furrowing as he sees the small accumulation of frost on the spots where his hands had been.

“You okay?” he hears Louis ask, his eyes flicking up to see him watching with a concerned expression.

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly, his face feeling a bit warm suddenly, as he realizes that he just froze part of Louis’ couch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Louis looks down to the couch cushion, letting out a small noise of understanding when he sees what’s there. “It’s fine, Darling. It’s just water.”

Harry nods, supposing that it could be worse. He reaches down to gently brush the ice away, hoping it’ll quickly melt on its own.

It spreads further when he presses his finger against it.

He yanks his hand back immediately, blinking down at the now bigger spot. _What the hell?_  He turns his palm towards himself, studying it for a moment. Before slowly reaching back down again. He brushes at the spot, like he had originally intended to, his shoulder relaxing with nothing happens. The ice melting slightly as he spreads across the fabric.

“There,” Louis says finally. “That’s perfect. What do you think?”

Harry blinks a few times, pulling his gaze up to look at the canvas on the wall and to Louis, watching him with a wide smile. “Beautiful.”

\--

Harry makes a small noise as Louis kisses over his bottom lip, his hands trailing lightly over his sides. He can feel the edge of the countertop, digging into his back as Louis presses him against it. But he can’t quite make himself care as Louis drags his teeth over the skin of his jaw.

Louis pulls back after a moment with a sharp inhale through his nose, stepping back from Harry as he bites down on his bottom lip. Harry slides his hands down to Louis’ hips, tugging at his belt loops to bring him closer again. “I have to work tomorrow,” Louis says with a shake of his head, “And so do you.”

Harry lets out a small sigh, pouting only slightly, knowing that Louis is right. And that it’s already late. He leans up to give Louis a quick kiss anyway. Louis laughs into it just a bit before stepping back again and reaching his hand out to hold Harry’s to walk them both to Harry’s bedroom. “Come on,” he says, “I have to be well-rested so I can mold those young minds tomorrow.”

Harry smiles, squeezing at Louis’ hand as they pass through the living room. “Yes, Dear,” he says quietly, yawning just at the end of his word. Louis giving him a small self-satisfied look when he does, the two of them walk through Harry’s bedroom door.

Harry kisses the look off of his face.

 

Harry wakes with a start, sucking in a deep breath and blinking around at the dark room. The air around him seems still, in a way that’s almost unnatural. He reaches his hands out over the duvet, trying to determine if he’s still dreaming, gasping a little when his hand comes into contact with a thin sheet of ice. Coating his blanket.

He looks around himself again, noticing suddenly the small bits of snow floating in the air, and how much colder it is than normal.

He quickly glances down towards Louis, who is curled up in a tight ball on the other end of the bed. Harry reaches for him, pressing a gentle hand against the side of his cheek, feeling how freezing his skin is, compared to his normal heat. He jumps out of bed immediately, running to the thermostat in the hallway, seeing that his heater is working desperately to maintain the correct temperature, and clearly failing.

He turns the heat up a bit more, hoping it will help defrost his bedroom faster before going to grab more blankets. He blinks them back to his room, back to Louis. Piling them on top of him before climbing underneath and wrapping his arms around Louis’ shivering frame.

He can feel his own heart pounding heavily in his chest, not quite sure what happened. Nothing like it had ever happened before. He’d always had a fair amount of control over what he did. There had been minor things, but nothing like this. He feels Louis snuggle closer to him, burying his cold nose into his chest.

Nothing this dangerous.

\--

The falling snow almost looks like fireflies in the moonlight. Not that Harry has ever seen them in person. But each flake seems to glimmer and flit about like it’s alive. Trying to catch his and Louis’ attention with every movement.

Louis nudges Harry’s hip with his own, causing Harry to startle a just a bit, stumbling over his feet. This only seemed to please Louis, a smile spreading out over his face as Harry turns to look at him with narrowed eyes. “Watch where you’re going, Darling,” Harry says, meaning to sound accusatory, but only managing to sound endeared. The crinkles by Louis’ eyes make him forget anything he was planning on saying or doing next.

“That’s what you get for not paying attention.” Louis nudges him again, more gently this time, keeping himself closer to Harry after he’s done so.

Harry can feel the soft warmth radiating off Louis’ body, seeping in through his coat. He looks ahead of them again, content with how peaceful everything feels. Hazy almost. There’s a bridge up ahead of them, arched over a frozen river.

It’s not a bridge that Harry sees often. He’s not quite sure how he and Louis got so far out—clearly they’ve been walking for longer than Harry thought.

He feels Louis’ hand knock against his for a moment, their knuckles brushing just lightly. It sends a warmth up his spine. “You should be wearing gloves,” Harry murmurs, glancing over at Louis’ profile.

Louis smiles lightly in response, “So should you.” He reaches over to squeeze at Harry’s hand before he picks up his pace a bit, walking over to the edge of the river. He leans over it, looking down at the lane of ice. “I’ve never seen water freeze over completely like this.” He glances back at Harry, “Do the fish freeze as well?”

Harry laughs, putting his hand back into his pockets, more aware of the cold now that Louis is farther away. “I don’t think so,” Harry muses, “They’re probably still swimming around down there.” He watches with amusement as Louis crouches down a bit more, trying to see if there’s any movement beneath the surface.

Harry closes his eyes for just a moment, taking in a deep breath of cold air. Momentarily thinking that he’s not sure he ever wants this day to end.

“Oh, I think I see one!”

Harry smiles before opening his eyes again, looking back to the bank of the river at Louis.

Only Louis isn’t on the bank anymore, he’s standing out on the ice, pointing a bit away from himself with a wide smile.

Harry’s chest tightens almost immediately at the sight, his eyes widening just a bit. “Louis you shouldn’t be standing there.” His voice is tense, as he starts to quickly move closer to the river’s edge.

Louis turns his head slowly to look over at him, a soft confusion in his expression. Harry watches him take a step back towards the edge, trying to heed Harry’s warning.

Harry hears the crack, echoing and loud, before Louis stills. And Harry watches in what seems like slow motion, as Louis’ eyes widen just a bit before ice splits underneath him.

 A loud noise falls out from Harry’s mouth as he lunges towards the river, scrambling to the gaping hole that now sits where Louis had been.  He reaches towards it immediately, thinking that if he puts his hand in quick enough he’ll be able to pull Louis back up.

The water solidifies as soon as his finger touches it, and Harry feels his entirely body tense at the sight. No, this can’t be happening now. Not now. He watches, paralyzed, as the ice spreads back over the opening, quickly closing it shut.

“ _No_!” Harry screams, slamming his fist against the sections, desperately trying to get them to break, digging his fingernails into it and clawing at the surface. “No! no!” His voice breaks out into a cry, tears blurring his vision as he continues to pound his fists against the solid surface. _He needs to get Louis out. He needs to get him out. He can’t breathe._

 _He can’t breathe_.

Harry lets out a cry, sitting up suddenly, his fingers digging into the blankets at his side. He takes in a few gasping breaths, looking around himself widely, his room slowly coming into focus. Another sob leaving him. _It was a dream_.

He looks down to his hands, gripped tightly on the sheets around him. Ice slowly forming around his fingertips. He shouts as he pushes the blanket away from himself, the movement and the noise both causing the body next to him to stir.

Louis turns before shifting up onto his elbows, opening one eye to look up at Harry with a concerned gaze. “Something wrong, Darling?” his voice rough with sleep.

Harry stares at him with wide eyes. Louis sitting up a bit further when he notes his expression, reaching out a hand to touch Harry’s cheek.

“No!” Harry shouts, pushing himself back, his body practically ripping himself away. Creating as much space between the two of them as he can, before he stumbles off of the bed, shaking his head, “No, don’t touch me.”

“Harry?” Louis’ eyebrows are scrunched together, his voice dripping with worry, already poised to comfort Harry. To convince him to get back into bed. Harry can’t let that happen.

“Louis, you need to leave.” Harry says, voice stiff, keeping his hands up near his chest so that they can’t do any harm.

Louis is quiet for a moment, before he starts to move in Harry’s direction. Making panic rise in Harry’s chest again.

‘No,” Harry says, keeping his voice firm, needing Louis to understand. “don’t come any closer. Louis.” He lets out a heavy breath, “I need you to go.” He can feel his limbs shaking, his whole body on edge as he looks at Louis’ figure—illuminated only by moonlight.

Louis’ voice is quieter when he speaks again, trying to find a way to calm him, “Harry… Baby, let me help.”

Harry closes his eyes, wanting nothing more than to be able to crawl back into bed and into Louis’ arms. To have him hold him until the images of his nightmare go away. But he can’t. Because he doesn’t know what touching Louis’ skin will do. What harm it will cause.

He feels his throat close up as he looks back at Louis, pained by just how beautiful he looks, even with worry etched into his expression. “You can’t,” Harry finally says, “you can’t help with this.”

Louis tries to reach out for him and Harry backs himself against the wall, voice desperate, “Louis, _please._ ”

Harry hates the way that hurt washes over Louis’ expression, his hand retracting slowly before he starts to gather his things. Harry doesn’t watch him, not sure if can handle the sight of him leaving. He keeps his eyes up to the ceiling, waiting until he hears the tell-tale click of the front door before letting himself sink down to his knees. A few silent sobs escaping him as he does, his hands still held near his chest. He slips down onto his side, curling in on himself a bit. His mind showing him again and again—Louis’ face just before he fell through the ice.

\--

Harry feels like he’s short circuiting. He’ll be fine for an hour or two before he sends ice spreading across the coffee table. Or makes it too cold for the stove to turn on.

His lack of sleep isn’t helping matters. Every time he closes his eyes he imagines Louis being there, smiling wide as he reaches out to touch Harry’s hair or intertwine their hands. And Harry watches every time as Louis’ arm starts to be slowly encased in ice, swallowing him whole.

And of course, an image of him banging against the other side of a frozen river, water pushing its way into his mouth and filling up his lungs.

And so, Harry barely lets himself close his eyes. And doesn’t let himself answer the phone, knowing that it will be Louis’ voice on the other end.

\--

Harry lets out a loud, frustrated noise as the cold air practically suffocates him. Every slight movement of his hands sends another scattered web of frozen crystals across another section of his house. He presses his forehead hard against the wall beside him, squeezing his eyes closed and trying to find some sense of control.

His fingertips have frosted over, white coating them up to the second knuckle. Making him unable to move them completely.

His throat closes up suddenly, his stomach clenching hard as he lets out a heavy breath. He can’t get it to stop. No matter what he tries. It only getting worse as the world outside his window gets darker and darker.

He slides down the wall, slowly, turning to rest his back against it, keeping his hands curled into fists in front of his chest and looking out at the living room. Covered in spots of white, the air thin and raw enough for even him to feel it, cutting against his skin.

He doesn’t allow himself to move, trying to keep his breaths light. Wanting to just get through this moment. Needing to. Even if he isn’t sure this moment will ever end.

His chest constricts again, his body wanting to coil in on himself and shut everything else out.

There’s a soft knock on his door.

The sound sends electric pulses up his spine, his head snapping towards the noise with wide-eyes. Panic settling into every corner of his body. Not knowing what to do. The thought of Gail walking in to see this making his lungs feel like they might burst.

Or of Louis. Of him seeing the bad and ugly parts of what Harry is capable of. Seeing him huddled on the floor.

And he imagines the horrible possibility of moving too abruptly, or breathing too heavily, and it causing him to do something worse than he’d done before. Putting either one of them in harm’s way.

His body jerks back when he sees the door opening a moment later. He desperately tries to move back, to distance himself from the person walking through it.

Louis stills when he steps inside, his eyebrows already pressed together as he slowly scans the room around him. His eyes widen as he glances over the state of Harry’s living room. Over everything that Harry had left in his wake.

And Harry sees Louis’ mouth form around the words, a small, soft breath the only thing giving them any sound, “ _oh my God.._.”

“Leave,” Harry finally finds his voice to say, cracking already at the end of the word. It directs Louis’ gaze to him. His eyes snapping to Harry’s like they always do before flicking down his person. And Harry watches Louis’ expression break, sadness and worry forming lines on his face.

He steps forward, his hand already stretching out to touch him and it pains Harry incredibly to have to pull himself back even further. The sizable distance between them still feeling too close. Harry shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut. “Go,” he begs. “Louis, please. I-I can’t-” _I can’t control myself,_ “I-“ _I don’t want to hurt you._

Ice crawls up his sleeve, having tugged on it without meaning to, a small, strangled noise escaping him as he pulls his hand back towards his chest. He clenches his teeth together when the white frost crawls further up his fingers. He sucks in a breath, an almost gasp. He wants to slam his head against the wall—a scream sitting somewhere in his stomach. One that had been slowly building throughout the day.

He finally lets out a sob when Louis starts to move towards him again. He shakes his head slowly, not able to do much more. He’s just _so tired._

Louis carefully crouches down next to him, his cheeks red from the cold inside the room. His eyes still searching over Harry’s features. And he’s beautiful. So, so beautiful. Even if Harry knows he can’t be there.

“ _Please_ ,” Harry breathes, tears blurring his vision as he tries desperately to keep his eyes on Louis’, “please don’t touch me…”

Louis takes in a small breath before giving an imperceptible nod of his head. “It’s okay, Harry,” he says after a moment. Sounding as though he’s trying to convince himself as well, “It’s going to be okay.”

Harry feels the tears spill over onto his cheeks, not falling far before they slowly start to freeze. He exhales shakily. Voice barely audible when he speaks again, “I’m scared, Louis.”

Louis stays quiet even as his mouth parts to respond, as though he can’t find any words to say. He looks lost suddenly, for a brief moment, echoing the feeling that had carved its way into Harry’s chest. Louis lets out a heavy breath, steeling his expression before softly repeating his earlier sentiment, “It’s going to be okay.” And the words steady Harry for just a moment, even as he sucks in a few shaky breaths, watching Louis’ body start to shiver in the cold of the room. Louis pulls his jacket tighter around himself, adding just a moment later, a resolute, “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Harry opens his eyes, his body stiff as he slowly turns himself, feeling the blanket on top of him shift slightly as he tries to sit up.

His head feels heavy, the consequence of a night spent crying. He blinks a few times before he sees Louis. Already awake, sitting on the armchair near the window. He has his chin propped up on his hand, blinking at the view outside, not looking at Harry. And it feels, for a moment, like he and Louis are in two different worlds. Louis existing like a painting on a wall, something beautiful and regal. Something he isn’t allowed to touch.

He feels a throbbing at his temple, blinking down to where his hands are buried in his blankets, already expecting to see the ice forming beneath them. But it isn’t—a small relief. His fingers seeming to have thawed as well, the powdery white that had been there the night before now melted away.  

“Hey,” Louis says softly. Harry glances up to see Louis looking at him, having turned his head away from the window. Now giving Harry a small smile, cautious, “How’re you feeling?” He breathes out slowly waiting patiently for Harry’s response.

Harry swallows, not sure he’d be able to make his voice work, the rest of his body feeling shaky as it is. And warm. Too warm. He wonders if Louis turned up the heat—to keep anything Harry did in his sleep from getting worse.

Harry turns himself, sliding his legs off the side of the couch, bracing his hands beside his himself before letting himself slowly stand. He hears his hips pop as he does, a pain sparking at the back of his shoulder. He looks back at Louis, blinking at him a few times.

He’s still waiting, giving Harry the time he needs to figure out his answer. Though Harry isn’t sure he has one. Not sure how he feels. Content to feel nothing at all.

He glances past Louis, not wanting to see concern in his gaze anymore. Not able to stand feeling it against his skin. It makes him want to melt again. To sink back to the floor and wait for Louis to come and put him back together. And it isn’t fair.

Not when he doesn’t know if things will ever get better. Or if he and Louis will continue to exist in this... _dance_. Until Louis gives up on it.

He lets out a breath as he lets the view outside the window come into focus, to stare out at the white blanket of snow—wanting the brightness of it to clear his mind.

Only that it isn’t white.

Harry feels himself take in a small, sudden breath, his body jolting with it as he takes a small step forward.

It’s green. Deep and dark, not bright like he imagined it would be. But it’s green. Blades of grass slowly starting to straighten back out—after been smothered for so long.

Harry’s mouth falls open, a heavy breath escaping him as he finally finds his words, “Is that…?”

“It must have melted overnight,” Louis murmurs somewhere beside him, his voice slowly muffling as he continues to speak. Harry not hearing anything that isn’t the sound of his own breathing, the pace of it picking up, becoming more and more shallow before he finally tears his gaze away. He turns, suddenly, moving to his front door as fast as he can, stumbling over his feet before he’s able to get his hand on the handle.

He pulls it open, running out across the threshold before a small noise falls from his mouth.

His toes press into the ice still clinging to his front porch, as he sweeps his eyes across the muddy patches of grass spread out across his front lawn.

He goes out to it, stalling near the edge of his path for just a moment before slowly stepping onto the soft ground, feeling it press against his skin. Almost tickling at the soles of his feet.

He sinks to his knees immediately, bending over to press his hands against it. Needing to touch it, to feel it beneath his fingertips. Wanting to know as much as he can about the part of the world he had never been allowed to see before now. He can feel the mud seeping into the fabric of his pants, dirtying them potentially beyond repair.

It’s not until he feels Louis’ hand on his shoulder that he realizes that he’s there, saying his name softly. The touch startles Harry. As he sits back on his haunches, staring up at Louis with wide eyes.

“Harry,” Louis says again, eyes soft, even if its clear that he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know what’s going on in Harry’s mind.

Harry lets out a breath, watching him for just a moment. He wants him to understand. “I’ve never seen grass before.” Louis brows press together for just a moment, expression relaxing into something calmer. Something bordering on happy as he slowly squats down beside Harry with a tiny smile. Harry’s voice is barely a whisper, afraid that if he says it too loud then it a might disappear. That everything will freeze over again, ripping the experience away from him before he’s really had it.

He stops himself from reaching out towards it again, suddenly fearing that it’ll be him that does so. He clenches his hands, taking in a small breath before carefully, cautiously placing his fingertips against one of the blades. Releasing another breath when nothing happens, the day still deciding to be kind to him. A wind blows past them, ruffling Louis’ hair before settling around Harry’s shoulders.

Harry shivers.

He stills quickly after, his brows pressing together as he looks down at his body. His eyes slowly trailing up his bare-arms, lines deepening further at the small bumps he sees forming on his skin.

He’s cold.

He flicks his eyes back to the blade of grass beneath his fingers, blinking at it slowly. The rest of the world around it blurring out of focus before he takes in a deep breath, focusing himself on it as he tries to freeze it over. Terrified that opening that door will only make him lose control again.

Nothing happens.

His shoulders slump, his expression twisting as he presses against the blade harder, feeling the sharper edges of it digging into his fingertip. But again, nothing happens.

He turns, reaching his hand out to place flat against a patch of the grass, pressing it hard against it before lifting his hand again. Only green staring back at him. He reaches further, his heart starting to pound in his chest.

Louis jumping a bit at Harry’s sudden movements, as he reaches out his other hand this time, touching over every section he can. Focusing every once of his mind into each and every touch. The grass remaining unchanged.

Louis grabs his wrists, snapping Harry’s attention to him. Harry turning his head to blink at Louis’ eyes. Steadying him as his chest rises and falls rapidly between them.

“Harry,” Louis breathes, shaking his head lightly. Looking lost. “What… what is going on?”

Harry looks back at him. His heart rate slowing gradually until he dislodges his hands from Louis’ hold, reaching up to let his fingertips brush against the edge of his jaw. Pressing them into his skin. Movements still cautious even as each passing second emboldens him to move his hand up a bit more. Finally letting his palm rest against his cheek, his thumb settling near his temple.

“Nothing,” he finally breathes, another gust of cold wind passing between them, making his muscles tense against the cold. His heart flutters lightly as Louis’ eyes flick between his. A thought settling at the base of his spine.

He isn’t going to hurt Louis.

“Nothing,” he repeats, leaning closer to him, Louis’ expression softening a bit more at their proximity. The traces of fear in his expression slowly fading away.

He may never hurt Louis again.

He voice is barely audible, as he presses his forehead against Louis’, “ _Nothing_.”

\--

Harry stretches out a bit more, rolling his shoulders back until he finally hears his back crack the way he needs it to. He lets out a small sigh, turning his head towards the sun, squinting up at the sky through his sunglasses for a short moment.

“I think it’s going to rain,” he says, turning his head to his other side where Louis is lying next to him. He’s lying on his stomach, his cheek resting against his arms. He looks peaceful, his legs bent at the knee, his ankles crossed in the air. Harry smiles at him lightly.

“I don’t think it will,” Louis finally responds, not bothering to look up at the sky to verify. “It’s too hot.”

Harry chuckles at that. “Wouldn’t that be the perfect reason to?”

Louis merely hums in response, opening his eyes for just a moment to glance over at Harry, giving him a small smile.

Harry takes it as his cue to roll over onto his side, leaning down to press a few small kisses to Louis’ still smiling mouth.

He sits up after, taking in a deep breath as he looks out at the park that surrounds them. A few children giggle and scream with each other, chasing after one another with tiny water guns. Men in the distance chat around a picnic table, beers in hand. Each person in their own versions of red, white, and blue.

His eyes catch on Gail, standing near a small grill. Laughing playfully with another woman beside her. She smiles when she sees Harry watching her, reaching up her arm to give him a small wave, big, chunky red bracelets clinking together on her wrist as she does. Harry lets out an amused breath. 

“Rain would ruin the fireworks,” Louis says after another moment, sitting up as well, tucking his chin over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry smiles a bit wider. “Well, we couldn’t have that, could we?” He reaches back to pat lightly at the side of Louis’ leg, leaving it there as he looks back over the crowd of people.

Louis voice is a low murmur, smirking just slightly, as though he’s telling a joke, “Happy Fourth of July, Harry.”

Harry lets out a small breath, turning his head to look at Louis again, their eyes catching on one another like magnets.

“Happy Fourth of July.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
